Prodigal Son
by commandocucumber
Summary: Eight years after Berk's heir vanished, the Viking town is slowly crumbling. Dragon attacks are more devastating than ever. To save her village Astrid must piece together exactly what happened before the dragons wipe them all out for good. Meanwhile, half a world away and eight years wiser, Hiccup decides it might just be time to go home.
1. Chapter 1

**Prodigal Son 1**

Astrid stared at the recruits assembled in the training arena. Numbering two dozen in total, they were the next generation of warrior. Not so long ago, she had stood in the ring herself, poised to receive the same training. She saw in their young faces the same anxiousness, fear, and determination she had felt during that first day.

The arena itself had looked different then. Back then the walls of the arena had been hard, heavy and flat, solid and reassuring. Now they were pock-marked and blackened with soot. Craters and crevices marked where dragonfire had heated and split the granite. The iron net which covered the roof, before a sign of Viking dominance over the beasts, was twisted and melted. Welds had cracked, and though it was still heavy enough and solid enough to keep Nadders and Gronckles contained, Astrid didn't dare unleash a Monstrous nightmare into the arena. She had been forced to kill the last one, a sad day for dragon training, but it was that or watch it destroy the arena and escape into the streets of Berk. In his smithy, Gobber the Belch tried his best to keep up with the demands of the island, but without his assistant, he was swamped. There was no time for repairs anymore and no manpower regardless. Above the cage, the sky was grey and cloudy. Mist hung in the air around them, soaking their clothes. In a few minutes the morning chill would set in. She had to get her trainees moving.

The young Vikings waited patiently, their eyes flitting between her and the enormous barricaded wooden doors behind which, they knew, their enemies waited.

"Not today." She said, ignoring their sighs of disappointment. "Not until I think you can handle it. Anyone remember what happened to Slug-Lout?"

They did. Everyone in the village did. Snot-Lout's youngest cousin had been caught by the Nadder during the stealth and agility maze. Instead of staying in its blindspot, the little one had panicked and run. The Nadder had chased him. Gobber had tried, but with his wooden leg, he couldn't reach them in time. That was the day Gobber retired from Dragon Training. No one blamed him, of course. Getting wounded or killed was a part of Viking life. It was an occupational hazard. Besides, his workload at the forge was more than he could handle as it was. Yet what little light was left in the man's gentle eyes had been extinguished that day, and Astrid had stepped up to the plate. No one could deny her qualifications, and everyone else was too busy. Yet Berk desperately needed new warriors.

As a fun warm-up, she set her trainees into pairs. Armed with wooden swords they danced around one another, thrusting, dodging, blocking and parrying the way she had taught them. She moved from pair to pair, commenting and correcting mistakes as she saw them.

After that came the running. The young ones circled, lap after lap around the arena's perimeter while she set up barrels and crude wooden walls, creating an obstacle course for them. Then there were push-ups, sit-ups, stretches, and at long last, aching tired and sore, they were allowed to enter her arena, and start the training itself.

Astrid did not use a real dragon to train them. She wasn't going to. Not until she was certain they could handle it. She did not want a repeat of what happened to Slug-Lout. They had to be physically capable and mentally strong enough to handle facing one of the fire-breathing demons. Instead she had a carved wooden dragon's head mounted on the end of a pole. She taught them how to approach, putting herself at the center of her carefully arranged obstacles, and making them approach from the circle's edge. Every time the false head swung in their direction, they were to duck down and remain motionless while the others snuck up from behind. If she spotted one of them, she'd yell 'fire!' and that recruit would be consigned to more running, more jumping, more sparring. More activities to hone his body and sharpen his wits before he was allowed back in the circle. In the meantime his surviving companions would continue to sneak forwards, slowly getting closer to their goal: the 'dragon head' which Astrid carried with her.

It was a good exercise, Astrid felt. She had invented it herself. It taught teamwork and stealth. It taught them when to move, and when to stay down. It taught them how to look, and how to move without being seen, and she was not going to present them with a real dragon until the group as a whole could consistently make it to the dragon's head without losing a man.

After the game, they practiced with bows and slingshots, using seagulls as targets. The fisherman regularly caught the birds down at the docks, and there was a seemingly endless supply of them. Enough, in fact, that they were eaten in Berk on a regular basis. If they could hit a gull, they could certainly hit a dragon.

The sun reached its apex, and Astrid knew her recruits were hungry. Hefting their weapons and equipment on their backs, she jogged them out of the arena, and through the streets of Berk, leading them on a winding path up and down the slopes of the city. All around them, the sounds of hammering and sawing could be heard. Vikings were perched on the tops of almost every building, trying to finish repairs from the last attack before the afternoon rains set in.

At long last, they arrived at the patched and charred Great Hall, standing proudly despite its blemishes. Inside, she knew Iona the cook would be preparing an enormous meal for them. It was part of the training regimen she had arranged with Stoick the Vast. Astrid had stressed the need to keep her recruits well fed and well watered, so that they could grow healthy and strong in preparation for their future as defenders of Berk.

Her severity was the trademark of her training; Astrid never gave her recruits anything. Every reward, including food, was earned. To that end, she split them into pairs once again. Those who won ate first. However those who hurt each other or neglected safety and control, ate last. Those who lied, tricked their way through the sparring session, or claimed they'd hit when they hadn't, didn't eat at all. A few of the children had tried that at the start, but with her sharp eyes, Astrid always caught them. They were fast learners.

"These are your battle brothers." She would say, "You live with them. You eat with them. You fight with them and you die with them. If you're willing to trick them, you don't deserve to be among them."

She led her band inside in strict, orderly lines. They each thanked Iona in turn, as Astrid had taught them. The Viking cook acknowledged them and stepped back from the pot boiling over the central firepit. Wooden bowls and spoons were distributed to each of them. Astrid doled out the meals herself, quizzing each hungry child on dragon lore as she served their food.

"How many shots does a Gronckle have?"

"Where is the Nadder's blindspot?"

"How do you spot a changewing?"

"How many heads does a zippleback have, and which one should you chop off first?"

"What is the first move you should make when fighting a Monstrous Nightmare?"

If the children answered incorrectly, they were to retake position at the end of the line.

"You have to know this." Astrid declared as she did every day. "You have to live and breathe these facts. They have to be at the front of your mind. During battle you don't have time to think you have to act on instinct and these facts will save your life! These facts will save Berk!"

The Book of Dragons was read from during the meal. Astrid flipped through it at random, sometimes throwing out more trivia, at other times reading entire passages. The meal ended and she set the book down, allowing her pupils an hour of respite to let the food settle. They slouched against walls, or lay on benches, resting their sore muscles and full bellies.

The eight-year-old Osmand, youngest of the children, grabbed the book and flipped through it himself. Astrid sipped from her stew, watching as he sat nearby, absorbed in the dry, cracked, and yellowing pages. He flipped from entry to entry, starting at the Terrible Terror, and reading through the book. He skimmed past the Monstrous Nightmare and the Gronckle. He paused and shivered at the Whispering Death, flipped past the Zippleback, Snaptrapper, Deadly Nadder, and Timberjack. He paused again, reading the entries for the Scauldrons and Thunderdrums. The pages flipped by; Changewing, Boneknapper, and Skrill. At last he reached the entry on the Night Fury.

Osmand read the short passage with a keen eye. He looked up at her, his eyes flickering in the firelight. "Miss Hofferson, what do you know about the Night Fury?"

"There hasn't been a Night Fury attack on Berk since before you were born." Astrid said severely. "Your father's a fisherman. You should read about the Scauldrons and Thunderdrums he has to fight off on every voyage. One day you'll join him out there."

"But what do you know about them?"

"No one knows anything!" she replied curtly. She began to recite the passage. She didn't need to read the book. She hadn't touched it in ten years. There was no need when every passage was memorized. "Speed: Unknown. Size: Unknown." She leaned forward, taking a small amount of pleasure in the way the boy's eyes widened in fear. "The Nigh Fury is the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself. Never ever engage this Dragon. Your only chance: hide and pray to Odin it does not find you."

"Also it doesn't like Eels." The boy said, glancing down at the Book.

Astrid stared. "What?"

"Eels." Osmand repeated. "It doesn't like them. I don't either. Eels are gross."

Astrid straightened up, frowning. "Where does it say that?"

"Right here." Osmand pointed into the book. He flipped the page over and grinned in surprise. "Hey! There's a picture!"

"Give me that!" Astrid snapped, springing across the table to yank the book out of the young boy's eager hands.

There was indeed a picture. A view of the dragon from above, with the wings spread. The drawing was crude, yet detailed enough to show that the artist had gotten quite close to the creature. She recognized the broad, gentle brushstrokes of course. There had been a time in Berk's past when the forge was covered in technical drawings with those same broad strokes.

"Tyr's missing hand…" she exclaimed quietly.

Osmand was giggling. "Someone wrote in the Dragon Manual!"

"Quiet!" She hissed sharply. The boy's mouth clamped shut and his eyes filled with worry.

"You mustn't mention this to anyone!" she said, "Go lay down with the other children and don't tell them either, okay? It's our secret. Just between you and me."

"But who drew it?"

Astrid took a deep breath and stared down at the drawing. Her fingers traced the gentle lines and careful details. It had been a very long time since she had thought about him. Longer still since the last signs of his presence had disappeared from Berk's day-to-day life. Drawings could still be found, untouched in the back room of Gobber's smithy. Rumor had it that the tiny bed in the upstairs room of the Haddock Hall was still there, along with all the books and papers, gathering dust. The bed was unmade. Paper, charcoal and quills lay strewn across the desk; half-finished technical plans and lines of careful poetry, all caught in a moment which would never have another.

Astrid said, "Berk's Lost Heir."

* * *

><p><strong>Hello everyone. My name is Commandocucumber. I'm delving into new territory here. I want to work on something which will hopefully be a little lighter in tone. HTTYD is a guilty pleasure of mine, and thought I'd take a crack at a fic. I'm not sure how far this'll go. Perhaps it'll depend on the response I get from all of you.<strong>

**Yes, it's another Hiccup Ran Away fic. Like there aren't enough of these, but between Hitchups and the Becoming trilogy this type of fic has really shown its potential for an effective and affecting storyline. I can't say I'll be staying as close to the reality of Viking life as Midoriko-Sama, but I'm also going to try and avoid the mysticism and scope creep which appeared in Hitchups. Btw if you haven't read Hitchups, or the Becoming trilogy, you're missing out on two of the best fics in this fandom.**

**I want to find that middleground which the movies and TV show portrayed. The 'Berk' Viking way of life, as it were, and perhaps explore a few of Hiccup's adventures on the side. That being said, expect a slightly harder edge than shown in the movies or the TV series.**

**I know I'm new here. It's always a little nervewracking, breaking into a new fandom, but in writing when you've got the itch, you've got the itch…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Prodigal Son 2**

The markets were always open in the port city of Eskendereyya. Apart from being a cultural, scientific, and economic touchstone of the ancient world, Eskendereyya was a crossroads. It was a point of travel between the east and the west, between north and south. It was a melting pot of cultures and values. Travelers of every religious affiliation, geographical location, and skin color ended up there, and with them they brought the goods and culture of their homelands. Silk and spices were shipped from the Far East along with perfumes and incense. Cocoa beans from some far-away nations, rice from others. Expensive fabrics, exotic animals, anything and everything could be found in Eskendereyya.

The city never slept. Thankfully for Ali Murat Yahya Attar, it always ate. He was a grocer, specializing in fish and fruit. He owned a series of shops along the waterfront. Ali was a good businessman. He planned well financially, and had significant amounts of money. Some of it was stashed away, and some he had reinvested in the fishing vessels he relied upon to bring him his goods. Of late, the costs of fishing in the Mediterranean had skyrocketed. More and more protection was needed to fight off the Moorish Pirates which roamed the area. Yet Ali kept his business running. His shops were efficient places. They stood out from the crowd for the variety and quality of their goods, and the friendliness of their service.

Even so, he was vulnerable to theft. Not only on the high seas, but on land as well, in the city itself. Every so often the street kids would come by and grab a fruit off the stands. The City's guards did what they could, but nothing could prevent the evolution of the street urchins which roamed the alleyways and marketplaces of Eskendereyya. It was a part of life, and he factored the costs into his overhead, expecting some level of theft.

Lately, however, entire baskets of fish had been vanishing, as his sons and employees reported. Not just vanishing, but flying straight into the open sky at high speed. Zipping upwards as if caught on some cosmic fishing line. It only happened when the nights were cloudy, as tonight was. The lights from the city tended to drown out the stars, something he wasn't particularly fond of. In his desert homeland he had used them to navigate, but here he felt cut off from nature, and on a more practical level, he couldn't see whatever sky-bound demon kept stealing his fish!

Ali had bought himself a crossbow, and stood at the ready by his market stall. Beside him his son and a hired guard were tending to the street-level business, haggling with passersby and regular customers over prices and quantities. Ali was quite proud of his sons. They were growing up to be fine businessmen themselves.

A gust of wind blew down upon his hooded head. The sand swirled under his feet. The demon was above him! Ali pointed his crossbow skywards, searching the inky blackness for whatever thieving devil had decided to steal from his stall. Both his son and the guard hesitated, watching him carefully, but he waved them away. They turned their attention back to the crowd of customers and the bustling street beyond.

Ali's sharp eyes caught movement in the skies above. He sighted down the bolt and fired the crossbow. The projectile whistled upwards and vanished, though there was a muffled and satisfying yelp of surprise, and something swearing in… Danish? Demons spoke Danish? Since when did demons speak Danish?

Something caught in the back of his belt and he screeched in surprise as he was swept upwards into the air. He could see the stunned, rapidly shrinking faces of his son, the guard, and bemused members of the street crowd. His crossbow, devoid of its bolt, fell from his grasp only to clatter down on some wine caskets. As he rose further he could see the entire street, bathed in yellow torchlight. For a moment he had a view of Eskendereyya which few in the living realm ever experienced. He could see above his stall, and over the buildings. The entire city, in fact, was lit up with hues of purple and dark blue, stretched across the nighttime coastline each street a strand in a giant glowing spiderweb. In the harbor he could see the lanterns of hundreds of fishing vessels. People below scurried like ants from stall to stall. In a matter of seconds the world had grown so immensely, and his stall had shrunk so much...

Suddenly he was dropped. Flailing wildly and screaming for his life he plummeted, watching his stall rising to meet him. He hit the thick cloth covering which protected his fruit stand from the sunlight. It sagged in the center and then ripped open, depositing him onto a pile of mangoes. From there he rolled onto the ground and landed on his bum, the wind knocked out of him with a huff. Hair tousled and eyes wide with shock, he stared straight ahead, ignoring the laughter of the crowd around him. Ali was too busy trying to piece together the previous four seconds.

Beside his stall, unnoticed by the laughing crowds or the bewildered shopkeeper, a small grappling hook was lowered at an even pace. The hooks found purchase in the arching handle of a fish basket, and it was promptly pulled upwards into the midnight sky.

* * *

><p>On the roof of the library of Eskendereyya, greatest library of the ancient world, a dragon landed. This was an unusual occurrence. In point of fact it was probably the first time it had ever happened. The creatures were not native to that part of the world. They had only recently been discovered in the furthest, most northern reaches of the settled world. Word had not even reached Eskendereyya that they existed.<p>

The event was made even stranger by the breed of dragon. Called a Night Fury by the Danes, the only peoples to have encountered them, the sleek, black creature looked almost demonic with its slitted green eyes and wide, fanged mouth.

What was more, it carried a rider on its back. A tall, lanky figure in leather armor and full face helmet. They landed with hardly a whisper, sliding smoothly to a halt despite the rather large basket of fish which was dangling from one of the many saddle hooks. The rider swung his leg over the dragon's side and slid down a few inches to reach the ground. Dismounting had become so much easier in the past few years.

He pulled off his helmet and shook out his shaggy brown mane. He brushed it out of his own sharp green eyes and sighed. "Well, bud, I think we're going to have to pick a different stall next time. That guy had a crossbow. That was way too close."

Behind him, the dragon scrabbled around in a tight circle, straining to get at the basket hanging just behind its head.

"Toothless!" The rider turned and grabbed his dragon, calming the animal enough to remove the stinking sack. The grappling hook was still tangled in the handles, and it took the rider a moment to clear it. The dragon bounded forwards and dove greedily into the pile of raw fish.

"You are just the worst kind of slob, you know that?" The Rider said fondly as he coiled the thin line. He followed it back to its source; an ornate shield mounted on the other side of the occupied dragon's saddle. He gave the string a gentle tug and watched as the internal springs pulled the line back in, coiled within the shield itself, ready to be shot out again at a moment's notice.

The shield was his prized possession. Its design was quite complex. The rider had built the device himself. He had planned, drawn and crafted the intricate parts using molding techniques he had learned from Andalusian jewelry smiths. The technology of springs and gears he had taken from clockmakers as far east as Byzantium. The outer shell had been forged in Constantinople itself. Of course, the Rider had access to certain resources other smiths did not. There was a particular breed of dragon, he had discovered, which when fed a particular type of iron ore, vomited up an extremely light, extraordinarily durable type of iron.

For a time, the rider had made his living quietly selling it to smiths all over the Viking archipelago, but time, tide, and torch-bearing search parties had driven him further and further south, chased away by his attachment to the very creature which carried him. Their bond was a permanent one now, and the Rider wouldn't have it any other way. He had carried some of the iron with him, though. Normally he would never have considered himself to be a hoarder, but his gut had told him that it would come in handy, if only to make a last-minute dollar. Instead he had turned it into one of the most useful tools in his arsenal.

He frowned, looking back out at the yellow lights of the city. "I hope he's all right. Do you think I should pay him back or something?"

The dragon grunted noncommittally and shuffled forward on its midnight black paws. Its head was now almost fully submerged in the basket.

"I mean… we are stealing, Toothless." The Rider said severely. He stared out across the city. "Those weren't our fish, and he had a right to defend his property."

His only reply was the satisfying gulping noise of the dragon's feed.

"All we did was scare him a little. And he did try to kill us."

The dragon licked its lips in satisfaction and wandered over to him. It hovered at his shoulder, watching him with big, round eyes. The rider reached up and absentmindedly scratched its chin causing it to coo peacefully.

"You all full now, bud?"

It nuzzled his hand.

"Never mind…" the rider said, turning away from the vista. He grinned at his companion. "No one could afford your appetite, Toothless. I think if you could find them, you'd eat every fish in the ocean."

The dragon snorted and wandered over to a scorched section of stone. For a moment, the library's roof was bathed in blue light as it reheated the burned surface. Then it curled up and settled in for a deep sleep. It gave the rider an inviting look, opening its wing to shelter him, yet he shook his head and retrieved his shield. "Not yet, bud- and don't give me that look! You always need your naps. I need my 'me time' too."

The dragon gave him a skeptical stare. Then it shook its head in defeat and curled itself up to sleep.

Hiccup paused a moment longer to make sure his friend was safe and warm, then he set off across the roof of the library. The library of Eskendereyya was among the largest in the world. Standing several stories tall, and several times the square footage of the Great Hall, it was an astounding and alluring sight for the intrepid young Viking. Within its walls was contained the knowledge and wisdom of a hundred cultures, the learning of a thousand scholars, and the words of a million poets. The rider wanted to read it all!

He had picked the roof as a nesting area almost immediately. It was a high point, easy to take off and land on. There was only one entrance, and the amount of dust build-up told Hiccup that no one had used the rickety ladder in a long, long time. His choice had only been solidified once he'd discovered what was inside the building.

He approached one of the three great domes which were placed at the center of each wing of the massive library. They each had their windows to let daylight in. they kept the windows open all the time, figuring no thieves would ever bother to break in anyway; it wasn't like many of them could actually read.

Fish baskets aside, Hiccup didn't consider himself a thief. Even though he was technically breaking into the building. He came to acquire knowledge, after all. Wasn't that what Libraries were for? Could knowledge be stolen? And if it could, was hoarding it really the right thing to do?

His gaze lingered on his sleeping friend.

_Sometimes._ He thought, _Depending on what was at stake._

Working in darkness, he wedged his shield against the frame of one of the windows and pulled out the grapple. He lowered it into the darkness below and then carefully eased himself over the window sill. He slid easily down the line and landed on the smoothly tiled floor with a faint thump.

He stopped there, listening for any signs of the patrolling guards. Only silence greeted him, along with the strange white noise created by the wind whistling through the stone structure.

The Viking reached into a pocket and pulled out a small tin filled with a light blue gel. He had found out early on that Toothless' spit contained residue from the chemicals the dragon used to flame. He had collected the liquid while Toothless slept (the dragon always drooled when he slept), and boiled it down until all that was left was the flammable gelatin, which burned for ages! Far longer than any candles! It had taken him a month to collect this much, but it was looking to last him twice as long, if he used it sparingly.

Hiccup found an alcove between two of the shelves, and carefully lit the gel using flint and steel. The blue flame blossomed outwards, giving him a small circle of light. He stood up, holding the candle in the palm of his hand and walking amongst the shelves, giving each book and carefully rolled scroll a close examination.

What was on the menu tonight?

Ah, yes. Homer's Iliad.

Hiccup had spent some time in Greece, and had learned to speak and read both languages, Greek and Latin. They were relatively easy to pick up. Hiccup loved the Iliad. He could do without the grand battles and brave thuggish warriors constantly cutting each other to pieces. The dramatic fights between Hector and Achilles, he usually gave those a miss. He felt a lot of sympathy for Cassandra; cursed with knowing the truth, and knowing that no one would ever listen. And how could one battle last ten years? Obviously neither side was trying very hard. Maybe they knew they were fighting for a stupid cause, though every time he read the description of Helen of Troy, Hiccup's overactive imagination would always conjure a picture of Astrid Hofferson, clothed in white and standing at some Greco-Roman balcony, waiting for her beloved. The image made his heart ache.

But he loved Odysseus! The character was not only a capable warrior, but a brilliant thinker and respected for both of his strengths! Odysseus had won the battle in the end, finally getting Greeks inside the city. They owed their victory to him. And there was a whole other book devoted exclusively to him and his adventures afterwards! Hiccup couldn't wait to read it!

There, in the library of Eskendereyya half a world away from home, he settled down at a random table to read a good book.

* * *

><p><strong>Eskendereyya is Arabic for Alexandria. I'm using the old term to put a little more distance between this story and reality.<strong>

**Andalusia is an area of Spain.**

**Moor was an old-world term for a particular type of Muslim invader. **

**Constantinople (now Istanbul) was the capital of the Byzantine Empire, a prominent force in the ancient world.**

**I'm not sure where exactly to place the archipelago of HTTYD in History's timeline (or on a map), but let's say its roughly eighth/ninth century. Maybe? I dunno. You know what attacked Alexandria in the ninth century? Motherfucking Pirates! This is gonna be fun! XD**

**And yes, I worked in the shield from the TV show. It always seemed so much more fitting for Hiccup than the flame sword. I'm not sure why they decided to cut it from the movie. It's a pretty awesome little gadget, and it showcases his ingenuity pretty well.**

**Let me know what you guys think. I want to make sure I've captured the Toothless/Hiccup relationship, so if you've got any commentary let me hear it while we're still close enough to do some major editing.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Prodigal Son 3**

Lying on her mat, Astrid tossed and turned. She just could not seem to get comfortable. All around her she could hear her family stirring in their own ragged linens. She was keeping them up, she knew. It was a small home, too small for privacy. Astrid knew she needed sleep; tomorrow was another long day of training, but her racing mind kept her awake. She could not seem to get the Night Fury drawing out of her head.

Hiccup. The lad had been a twig. A runt. How had he managed to get closer to a Night Fury than any Viking before him? Was it all a ploy? A prank discovered nearly a decade too late? As she recalled, the boy had possessed a troublemaker's streak. Yet most of that had been accidental carnage. He had been a walking disaster, and not everyone in the town had been heartbroken when he had vanished. Gobber was hurt, naturally. Stoick himself seemed to close up completely. He barely spoke anymore except to make judgments and give orders. He had been that way for so long that by now most of the children thought it was simply his way. Yet Astrid was old enough to remember a time when he would laugh and drink with the rest of the village. Besides those two, more than a few locals had been rather fond of Hiccup, treating his frequent accidents with the same patience one would use to approach a precocious puppy which had just peed on a carpeted floor. They had kept faith that his Haddock blood would show through eventually, that his awkward incompetence was just a stage.

And Astrid herself? Well she hadn't really made anything of him at all. The boy had nurtured a hopeless crush on her, which she at first failed to recognize, then promptly ignored. He couldn't fight, couldn't alk (at least not to her), couldn't drink, and couldn't contribute. He had been nothing. Nothing at all… until the last few months of his life.

Astrid rolled onto her side and shut her eyes, trying to remember the training itself. At first he had been as ill-fitted to the warrior's role as everyone had expected. He had spent more time talking to Gobber than he had paying attention to the Dragons. In the ring he had been a risk to himself and everyone else, nearly ending both himself and her when they'd faced up against the Nadder.

And then…

And then…

And then he had changed. Almost overnight he was able to deal quickly and efficiently with every beast put against him, quickly surpassing even Astrid herself to become Champion of the ring. And then he had just… vanished.

She punched her pillow into a better shape and rolled onto her back again.

Search parties had been sent out to find him. For weeks they searched. Months, even. Two years passed before Stoick stopped the search. And life went on as it had been, minus a few accidental explosions every week. The village slowly dwindled, suffering a death by a thousand cuts as each dragon raid took a little more out of its citizens than they could recover.

Astrid backtracked and ran through the training days again. Hiccup had been very good at fighting the beasts, towards the end of his life. Come to think of it he hadn't actually fought them at all, had he? Dealt with, yes. But she couldn't recall a moment when he had intentionally hurt one of the beasts-

Astrid's eyes snapped open with the revelation. She stared at the thatched ceiling of her home, brow furrowed as she recalled what she could of those days in the training arena.

No dragon had ever been wounded by Hiccup. Ever. They'd been subdued, but not hurt.

The Shield-Maiden sat up and gathered her furs around her. She had not let go of the Dragon Manual since her pupil's discovery. It was lying on the floor beside her, and she picked it up. She rose, retrieved her boots as quietly as possible, and slipped out into the chilled night air.

The sky above her was clear, and she could make out the brilliant stars. The constellations shone brightly above her head, as did the pale cloud of the Milky Way galaxy. She trudged through the silent town. On the battlements and fortifications, she could see the guards patrolling. Each battlement was armed with a ballista and enough arrows to down a hundred Dragons. The soldiers were well-armed and vigilant. Always watching the skies for the telltale winged shadows.

Clutching the book tightly to her chest, she climbed up the hill a few hundred meters, her breath freezing in the cold air. Her destination was the Thorston household, a larger building, closer to the center of town. The twins were as stupid as Vikings came, yet they were members of one of Berk's wealthier families. Ruff-Nut had made one smart decision in her entire life, and that was marriage to Fishlegs. They had a small child to care for now, and it was pretty much the end of Astrid's association with either of them.

She plodded up to the door and knocked hesitantly. The sound echoed around the village square. Inside the house, the baby began to cry. Astrid cringed, cursing her own thoughtlessness; this could have waited until morning.

The door opened a few seconds later to reveal Fishlegs. The man had grown larger with age, though his fat now had a layer of muscle underneath, lending a sense of strength and physicality which he had lacked in youth. His beard was thick and bushy, but his face still possessed a youthfulness which usually tended to disappear around his age. His eyes belied that, however.

Astrid and Fishlegs had never gotten along very well. Fishlegs was a planner and a thinker. Someone more at home at a table, or perhaps in a political meeting than on the battlefield. Their worlds were as far apart as fish were from birds. Astrid had been more than happy to keep it that way. Yet as she looked into his eyes, she could recognize his intelligence. He was a man who had a hundred thoughts for every word he spoke, when he spoke at all. He was useful to Berk in his own way. He had fine-tuned their farming methods and drawn up proper calendars for future planning. She knew that somewhere he was charting the Dragon attacks as well, looking for a pattern they could use. Fishlegs had weaponised sums, an impressive feat, though one Astrid had trouble appreciating as she couldn't understand most of what he was writing while sitting with his papers and charcoal.

"Astrid…" he said, clearly feeling as bewildered as she did uncomfortable.

"Hi." She said awkwardly. She cleared her throat. "Good morning."

"Usually people wait until morning to say that." The admonishment was gentle but effective.

"I know. I apologize. I was just… look, do you have a minute?" Of the group they'd trained with, Fishlegs had been the closest to Hiccup. Of all of their generation, she knew he would know the most. Besides, he was smarter than she was. Perhaps he'd seen more, even if Hiccup hadn't said anything to him.

The man glanced back into the house. Behind him, Astrid caught Ruff-Nut's silhouette as she rocked her child back to sleep. He turned back to Astrid. "Perhaps we should talk in the Great Hall. I'll meet you there."

* * *

><p>They sat across from each other, each with a mug of ale. The Dragon Manual was sitting between them, closed. Their small table was lit by a single candle, already burned nearly to the wick. The flame flickered gently as Fishlegs waited.<p>

"What is this about, Astrid?"

"When was the last time you read the Manual?" she asked.

Fishlegs looked down at the book. He reached out with one hairy hand and gently picked it up, weighing it in his palms. "A long time ago." He admitted. "In the end there's only one lesson I've found it teaches: Kill on Sight."

"Not the Night Fury." She said.

"Run and Hide?" Fishlegs chuckled; a warm sound which made her smile. He said, "I used to categorize them, you know? I'd give them traits and try to measure them. I wanted to gauge the threat of each individual dragon."

"The threat is deadly." Astrid replied blankly. "Always deadly."

He nodded, "That's what I decided in the end as well. I gave up on that project and decided to find something more useful."

She took a sip of her mead, and he followed suit, leaving a little white line of foam in his moustache.

"There's a picture of a Night Fury in there." She said, setting her mug down on the rough wooden surface.

"Really?" Fishlegs frowned. He opened the book and flipped to the Night Fury entry, then a page further. His eyebrows rose as he peered down his nose at the drawing.

"I think Hiccup drew it."

"It looks like one of his." The man agreed, traced the drawing with a thick finger. He turned the page back and read the new addition to the entry. "…Hates Eels…"

"How would he know?"

"Perhaps he tried to feed it one?" Fishlegs suggested in a light tone.

"I'm serious!"

The man frowned and looked back down at the entry. With slow, deliberate movements he flipped back through the dusty pages until he reached the entry on the two-headed Zippleback. Fishlegs read slowly down the entry. He nodded in satisfaction when he reached the end. Smirking, he handed it across to Astrid, his finger resting on a particular passage, again in Hiccup's careful printing.

"Hates eels." She read.

"Do you remember the day we faced the zippleback?" he asked. "It nearly had him and then it backed off. He chased it right back into its pen."

"I remember." Astrid said shortly. Everyone did. The move had left everyone else in the arena stunned, and Hiccup had wandered off in his usual awkward manner.

"The dragon feeders found an Eel in the cage with it when they opened the doors." Fishlegs said quietly. "I remember my father speaking to them about it. They had no idea how it got there. Those dragons were fed fish offal from the butchers. At the time it was simply another unsolved mystery. But now…?"

"You think hiccup put it there?"

"I think Hiccup had it with him the entire time."

"To protect himself?"

Fishlegs smiled at her. "Well he couldn't use a sword, could he?"

Astrid nodded; that much was true. "Why would he write it in the book, though?"

"To pass on his knowledge? That would be my guess." Fishlegs took the book from her and closed it with a snap. He rested it on his knee and stared across the table at her, his mug looking tiny as he held it in his enormous hand, sipping occasionally.

"Why do you care, Astrid? You never bothered about Hiccup."

"I don't care. I just…"

"You woke me up in the middle of the night."

Astrid's mouth shut. She said, "Why did he draw that picture, Fishlegs? How would he know what a Night Fury looks like?"

"I don't know." The man replied. "My guess would be that he saw one. You do realize that Night Furies stopped attacking Berk at the same time he disappeared, right? Perhaps he killed one. Or scared it or something."

Astrid stared. Across the table, Fishlegs guzzled the remainder of his ale. He rose to his feet a little unsteadily, sliding the chair back with a creak. "Regardless, I've a wife to calm and a child to put to bed." He waved the Manual. "I'll be keeping this for a while, if you don't mind."

"Sure." She watched as with heavy steps he headed for the Great Hall's massive door.

"Should I talk to Gobber?" she called.

Fishlegs turned and shrugged his massive shoulders. "If you like. Personally I'd keep training the children. According to my charts the dragons are scheduled back in two days and we've got a lot to prepare for."

* * *

><p><strong>Of all the characters, I honestly think Fishlegs would change the most with age. I'll be revisiting him a little later in the story.<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**Prodigal Son 4**

During the day Hiccup dressed himself in a loose tunic and baggy leggings under a set of nondescript brown robes. They were getting a little threadbare, but he could pass through the sweltering, dusty streets like any other resident. The leather armor would attract attention, and was far too stuffy in any case. He kept himself busy during the hottest parts of the day, when Toothless dozed. The air was too sizzling hot, and the sky too clear to take the Dragon out in the daytime regardless.

Instead Hiccup amused himself by exploring Eskendereyya. The city had plenty to offer an inquisitive mind. There was the Library, of course, which he perused at will. There was the museum as well, the public gardens, the amphitheatre, the various mosques, churches, and temples. The City was rife with ancient ruins from earlier Greek and Egyptian eras, brought to their fates by war and changing times.

Today Hiccup's morning was spent at the Amphitheater. Prometheus Bound was being performed. A rather brutal Greek tragedy about the punishment exacted upon the titan who brought fire to Humanity. Hiccup felt a great deal of sympathy for Prometheus, and admiration for the Titan's steadfast defiance. Prometheus was truly a character who would rather die on his feet than live on his knees. Hiccup found that the titan's punishment was as undeserved as it was horrific. In the play, the titan had done so much for the human race, teaching them everything from metallurgy to medicine to mathematics. It was unfair that someone so devoted to the health and learning of others should be punished.

After the Amphitheatre, Hiccup browsed the markets for a little while. He bought some fruit at the same shop he'd stolen from the previous night. The shopkeeper was there, sporting a foul temper and, judging by his stiff walk, a bruised bottom. Hiccup didn't mind too much. The bolt the man had fired at them had passed within a yard of Toothless.

In the afternoons he worked at a Smithy in the Agora, the town square across the bay from the Pharos, the great lighthouse of Eskendereyya. Built entirely of limestone blocks with an oven at the top capable of throwing light a solid mile across the ocean, the lighthouse was the tallest structure in the world, but height had long ago ceased to impress Hiccup. He loved looking at it, though. It was a testament to the brilliance and ingenuity of Sostratus, its architect. It was also an important civic symbol for the citizens. Julius Caesar himself, when he had conquered the city, had cited it as an important strategic location. In his book (which Hiccup had studied and thoroughly enjoyed), he said that those who controlled it, controlled the harbor of Eskendereyya. And those who controlled the harbor, controlled the city.

It was visible from the window of the Smithy. The forge itself was a small place, yet bustling with activity. It was owned and operated by a Gaul named Yanick Erwan, a former slave whose owner had 'employed' him at a forge in Byzantium. He had worked there for thirty years and eventually escaped. He stowed away on the first ship headed south, and settled in Eskendereyya.

The man was harsh, but honest, and Hiccup got along quite well with him, even if they did drive each other crazy at times. He reminded Hiccup of Gobber, though Yanick was far narrower across the shoulders, and far less burly. He also was not missing any limbs.

Hiccup entered quietly through the back of the forge, and hung his robes on a nearby hook, trading them for a leather apron and thick gloves.

The Gaul was at the bellows, huffing and sweating in the intense heat. His body dipped as he pumped air into the forge. You're late again." He called out, catching sight of Hiccup. "You were due in at midday."

"Sorry. Had a late night."

"Up with a woman?" the wiry Gaul asked gruffly, pumping the enormous handle downwards. The coals flared a bright, vicious red, and heat billowed out from the forge's open door. An enormous puck of iron lay in there, growing red hot.

"Up with a book."

"And here I was all ready to forgive you. You need to get your priorities straight, Hiccup."

Hiccup glanced around the shop. "Where's Alan?"

The man's other apprentice was frequently absent.

"Dead grandmother." Yanick grunted.

"That'd be his third this year." Hiccup picked up a shovel and added more charcoal to the forge.

"Ha! And seventh total."

"Strange family, he has."

"Here, pump the bellows." Yanick handed his task off to Hiccup, who took it without complaint. He watched as the sinewy forgemaster circled around and used a pair of tongs to lift the hot chunk of metal out of the oven. He lay it down on his anvil and gave it a harsh pounding, drawing it out. Then he flipped it over and placed it back in the heat.

Technically Hiccup wasn't the man's apprentice. He had marketed himself more as a… consultant. There were plenty of mechanical problems to be solved in and around the city, many of them not just metallurgical in nature. It was a market Yanick wanted to break into, and he paid Hiccup a respectable sum to repair mechanical problems on his behalf. A week beforehand the young man had been sent out to fix a sluice gate in the city's canal. He had, in record time at a reasonable price. As a result, Yanick's Smithy was top in the running for a long-term contract with the city's public works committee.

Yet Hiccup knew his way around a forge. He had worked in Gobber's smithy since he was small, and during the quieter days he did more than his fair share helping Yanick and Alan as they crafted tools for the citizens of Eskendereyya. It had startled Hiccup, when he'd first arrived. The smithy on Berk had crafted an incredibly disproportionate amount of weapons. Most Smithies in the rest of the world created far more tools than arms. The rest of the world, however, wasn't under constant threat of dragon attack.

"What is that going to be?" Hiccup called out as he pumped the bellows.

"A plow for Vasilis Argyris. He said his old one's got a nasty crack in it. Ain't going to last much longer." Squinting in the forge's light, Yanick grimaced down at his creation. "It's too soft, though."

"Add more charcoal." Hiccup suggested over the roaring flames. "It'll harden it a little."

"I was getting' there." The Gaul grumbled. He lumbered over to his coal pile and shoveled a few more into the fire. A few sparks flew out and lit upon his greying, gristly beard, promptly relighting themselves. He patted the fires out absentmindedly and kept watching the forge.

"So when are you gonna look into getting'a young lady, Hiccup? Can't spend all your time around books."

"Can't spend all your time in bed, either." Hiccup grunted, straining on the bellows, "Gets you lazy."

"You actually lain with one?"

"Not your business, Yanick."

The smith joined him and together they thrust the handle up and down. "A girl up north, then?" Yanick grinned, "I hear the Scandinavian women are all blondes."

Unwilling images of Astrid flitted across Hiccup's mind. He worked hard to suppress them; it wasn't worth the heartache. Or the headache. "Some are, some aren't."

They fell into five minutes of silence.

"What the hell are you always reading anyway?"

"History, philosophy, mathematics, geometry, architecture, astronomy, poetry…" with each word, Hiccup pumped the bellows rhythmically.

"Too much." Yanick shook his head. "It's too bloody much. All you need to know is right here in this forge, Hiccup. Ain't no point in reading."

"Want and need are two different things, Yanick."

"Maybe." For all his gruffness, there was an undertone of jealousy and admiration in the Gaul's questions. The man was capable of the basic computation required to run a business, but Hiccup knew his employer couldn't read at all.

"Do you want to learn how?"

Yanick shook his head sourly. "Past my time, I think. Can't teach an old dog new tricks, Hiccup. You can only watch him get slower."

"Aw, c'mon Yanick. You're not that old." Hiccup smirked, "Very dogged though."

"Smartmouth."

They worked for a good two hours, Hiccup rotating between the jobs of striking and pumping as required. In due course, a plow began to take shape. They were interrupted several times by various customers requiring everything from chains to nails to horseshoes. Yanick always headed to the front counter to assist them while Hiccup stayed back, working the bellows. Another half hour passed without incident.

Yanick and Hiccup worked in tandem, shaping the curve of the new plow and adding more heat where necessary. The forgemaster was called away once again, this time by an olive-skinned man with a goatee, a wrinkled face and a pale, sun-faded bandana. He would have been unremarkable were it not for two things.

The first was his familiarity with Yanick. The moment he spotted his customer, the Gaul beamed and let out a jubilated whoop. The man replied in kind, and the two shared an embrace over the counter, greeting each other as old friends would.

The second striking feature was the young woman following him. A slim, olive-skinned beauty with wide brown eyes and sweeping curls of dark hair. Her eyes found Hiccup's as the older man –her father, or so Hiccup hoped- was occupied with Yanick. As he met her gaze he smiled, his hands momentarily slipped off the bellows. The thick wooden handle rose to smack him in the face. He fell backwards, crying out in surprise and pain.

"What in God's name are you up to back there, Hiccup?" He barely heard Yanick's shout over the throbbing in his nose. He could feel warm blood beginning to flow down onto his upper lip. Half-blinded, he stumbled over to the bench and felt around for a rag, which he found in short order and clamped over his nose.

"Hiccup, get over here!" Yanick hollered.

The young Viking scrambled over to the counter, one hand pinching his nose. Lovely. What a wonderful introduction.

Yanick gave him an impatient, exasperated glare. "How many times have I told you never let go of the handle? Do that enough times and it'll turn you simple."

"Well at least we'll be able to think on the same level." Hiccup shot back snidely, his voice muffled and nasal. Well… _more_ nasal.

Yanick cuffed him smartly and turned back to the duo. The young woman was biting her lip, trying not to laugh. Her associate looked equally as amused. Hiccup noted the wheelbarrow they were toting behind them. They had moved it under the cloth canopy which served as a storefront, mostly to avoid the jostling crowds of people. The Barrow looked to be full of rope and broken mechanical devices. He raised his eyebrow, his interest piqued.

"This here's Anton Pandev." Yanick patted his friend on the shoulder. "And his daughter."

"Shahira Pandev" She thrust a hand forward, which Hiccup shook, well aware that his own hand was covered in soot. Hell, he was probably covered from head to toe. It came hand in hand with working in a forge. Sure enough, when she let go, her hand came away covered in black streaks. She didn't seem to mind, wiping it absentmindedly on her pant leg.

Hiccup addressed Yanick first. "How do you two know eachother?"

"This sea dog was the one who carried me south from Byzantium. It's thanks to him I have my freedom."

"We've heard a lot about you, Hiccup." Anton chortled merrily. "Yanick wrote to me not two months ago. Said a verified genius had waltzed right into his shop, looking for a job."

"I don't know if genius is the right word…" Hiccup said, shrugging. "I just fix things I guess."

"Wow." Yanick murmured. "Try not to oversell it. You'll drive the customers away." He turned to Anton, "He's pretty brilliant. Works hard, can fix damned near anything I hand him. When he shows up on time, that is."

"Hey, I've had no grandmother's funerals yet."

"Let's keep it that way."

"We hear you can fix everything. All kinds of things." Anton replied, still in that jovial tone.

"What's the problem, exactly?" Hiccup eyed the barrow.

"The problem, my boy, is Pirates. They keep trying to raid my boat and steal my catches. I've outrun them, but it's been close. And the last time…" he gestured down at the wheelbarrow.

Hiccup leaned over the broken pulley system. "Your rigging broke?"

"We need better tackle blocks." The woman said, moving up to stand beside her father. "I rub wax on them, and they've been treated with oils but they keep seizing up when we pressure them too much."

"And then they crack." Hiccup nodded, "I've seen the problem before."

"What we _need_ is to get a message to Constantinople and tell them to kick the Moors off of Crete." Anton declared.

"Not bloody likely." Yanick said sourly. "They took Crete from us, remember? The Byzantine Empire is crumbling. Everyone knows it. Too many high-paid bureaucrats, not enough soldiers."

Hiccup took a moment to check his nose. It was still throbbing, but at least the bleeding had stopped. Anton was talking.

"Well something has to be done! They're raiding towns all along the coastline now. If those pirates get any further into the Mediterranean, they're going to be nosing around the Pharos Lighthouse!"

"Sorry to interrupt, but how did you get away last time?" Hiccup asked. "I mean, if your rigging broke…"

"We still had our jib sail." Anton said.

"And enough of a lead to get into the shallows." The girl added.

"It was Shahira's idea, actually." Anton laid a proud hand on his daughter's shoulder. "We had to dump our catch to lighten the boat, but it worked. The Moorish ships have a deeper draft than ours, and they don't know the waters. They got stuck!"

"And we got a clean getaway." Shahira added smugly.

"That's really smart." Hiccup said earnestly. She beamed.

"We still had to limp back to the harbor, though." Anton said. "My ship needs to be able to take more than she does right now. Fix my pulleys, boy. Make'em work like I want'em to."

"You shouldn't work them too hard." Hiccup warned. "Even if the pulleys can take more pressure, it doesn't mean the mast or the shrouds will take it."

"Don't worry, boy." Anton waved a hand. "I know my ship. Just solve the problem. You'll be paid handsomely. I can promise you that."

"It's half-price." Yanick said.

Hiccup gave him a confused look; it wasn't often the Gaul slashed prices. Yanick clarified. "That'd be your half. I'll do what I can Pro Bono."

Yanick grinned. "That'd be why I keep coming back to ya."

Hiccup sighed and shook his head. "Alright then."

The sailor nodded in satisfaction. He bid Yanick farewell and strode into the crowd, headed towards the harbor. His daughter lingered a moment longer, and gave Hiccup a wave which he awkwardly returned. She headed out into the crowd after her father.

"Good man, that. Especially for a Macedonian." Yanick said thoughtfully. He crossed behind Hiccup and grabbed the barrow handles. "You know he found me stowed away on his boat and just gave me free passage? Helped me get set up here. Moment he found I'd escaped he did everything he could to help. Just didn't believe in slavery I guess."

"Sounds like a good man." Hiccup agreed thoughtfully, "I wonder if he'd pay me in fish…"

Yanick gave him an incredulous stare. "You are an odd one, Hiccup Haddock. C'mon, let's get this stuff into the shop."

* * *

><p><strong>I almost feel like I should separate this out into two stories. I'd rather not have any mood whiplash going on. <strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**Prodigal Son 5**

Late the following afternoon, Astrid was striding through Berk on her way to the forge. She had dismissed the lesson early, much to the shock of her students, but she had other things on her mind. The smithy was occupied, as it always was. Astrid could hear the distant sound of Gobber's hammer from half a street away. The old Viking was always at the forge. Wheelbarrows full of broken weapons sat outside in strict order; his work was piling up.

Gobber was covered in sweat and blackened by charcoal. His moustache was smoking slightly, yet he huffed and puffed and toiled away, hammering diligently at a catapult's sling. He glanced up when her shadow blocked the doorway, but he didn't stop hammering.

"Hello, lass. Your axe needin' more repairs, then?"

"Actually no. I just came to talk."

"Really?" stopping in mid swing, the smith looked up from his work, his long, braided moustache swaying dangerously close to the sizzling metal. He looked stunned and curious, despite the dark bags under his eyes.

She nodded.

He studied her with a certain amount of apprehension and lowered his hammer. He set his work back in the forge and turned. "First for everythin' I suppose. Alright then, Astrid, what did you want ta talk abou'?"

Astrid took a deep breath and said, "Hiccup."

The smith's shoulders tensed. He pulled the tongs off of his stump and tossed them into his toolbox with a certain amount of excessive force. "The trouble with this town." He began harshly as he searched for a replacement hand, "Is that no one is ever bloody willing to let things bloody be."

"What do you mean?"

"Fishlegs was already here this morning, asking for a tour of the back room. No one's ever asked that. Odin's beard, it's been eight years! Why in Thor's name is everyone suddenly so interested in Hiccup?"

So Fishlegs was tugging on this thread too? Good. "We think Hiccup may have found something. A way to fight the dragons!"

"We've been inventing ways to fight dragons for three hundred years, Astrid." Gobber said, exhausted. He hobbled back over to the forge. "I'd wager we've found every method there is by now. If tha's all, then please go away. I have enough work to do as it is."

"Hiccup never hurt them, though." Astrid said, following him further inside.

"Course not. He couldn't exactly carry a weapon, could he?" the smith fixed an enormous striking hammer to his stump. He grabbed a pair of tongs with his other hand and resumed his work.

To her annoyance, Astrid found she was forced to shout over the sound of his hammering. "Thing is… I was thinking back on it, and… do you think he wanted to? Kill dragons, I mean?"

Gobber skipped a step in his rhythmic pounding, but he didn't stop. "O'course he did. Nothing would ha' pleased Stoick more."

"Yeah. Because Hiccup was a master at that." Astrid laughed, and immediately realized it was a mistake.

The smith's tongs landed on the ground beside him. Gobber leaned over the hot metal, the orange light throwing his face into menacing shadows. He said, "Tha's Stoick's fault. Not the boy's." he scowled, his expression one of distaste as he peered out at her from beneath thick blonde eyebrows, judging her inch by inch, head to toe.

Astrid swallowed.

"The biggest problem Berk has is tha' its people have forgotten to recognize tha' there's brilliance off the battlefield."

"That's our biggest problem? I guess you've forgotten about the dragons, then." Astrid shot back defiantly, feeling stung.

Gobber's eyes narrowed further. He gently set the striking hammer down on the anvil with a quiet clink, his stump fully exposed for her to see. He settled there for a moment, letting her take in the full extent of his injury. Ancient though it was, he lived with it every waking minute of every day.

"Care ta say tha' again, lass?" He growled.

Astrid opened her mouth stupidly; experienced as she was, she couldn't say she'd lost a limb to the beasts yet. She shut it and swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"Tha's wha' I thought." The smith was suddenly in motion again, limping across the forge as if nothing had ever happened. "Bu' you want ta know abou' Hiccup." He vanished behind a flap of leather, into the room behind his smithy. Into what had been Hiccup's study. Astrid could hear the shuffling of papers. He reappeared a moment later, turning sideways to fit through the narrow opening. In his single hand he was carrying an enormous yellowing sheaf of dried papers. "I wonder if yer really as thick-headed as ya like ta act."

Handling it with the utmost care, he handed the thick stack to her. Astrid took it as gently as she could, cuddling it close to her chest as she would a newborn child, knowing it was the only way to appease the angry smith.

"Tha's the last I have o' the boy. Ya damage those pages an' I will never sharpen or fix a weapon for you again." Gobber promised.

Astrid believed him.

* * *

><p>The Hofferson household was hardly a place of peace and quiet. Astrid's family was large and tightly packed. There was always shouting and arguing and fighting of one sort or another goin on, though far less violent than the Thorston home. Even so, she was forced to search elsewhere for the necessary peace and quiet.<p>

She settled in a quiet corner of the Great Hall, a bowl of stew in her lap and a jug of mead at her side. The only things on the table were a bright candle, placed some distance away, and the sheaf of papers which Gobber had handed her.

Astrid wasn't exactly sure what she was looking for. Another note, perhaps. Another sketch of the Night Fury. Something, at least. Some hint about what the boy had found.

The page on top was none other than a sketch of a water-driven mill. The mill in question had been completed four years ago. It sat at the nearest river, a good five minutes from town. The building was one of the few which wasn't burned down by dragons every three weeks, and it had increased Berk's timber output by nearly tenfold. Raw resources had been suddenly made available for much-needed repairs. It was the first time in Astrid's memory that the Vikings had been able to keep up, even stock and save timber for the damages the Dragons caused.

The mill had been attacked once, but it was roofed entirely by thick layers of sand, mud and shale. The walls were stone, as were the pillars which held it up. No thatched roofs or wooden timbers for the Dragons to burn. An expensive proposition, tricky to build, yet it meant that the building was fireproof. Or fire-resistant enough to survive the attacks. The Vikings would always have wood available.

It had been built four years after Hiccup's departure. So how had he sketched it? It was definitely Hiccup's style, with long, broad, confident strokes. But how had he known about it?

She turned the page over and stared. There was the mill again, this time cut-away to show the intricate machinery inside it. Enormous cogs and gears driven by the waterwheel which was also housed in an enormous stone shell.

The mechanisms were broken down further in the pages beyond. Hiccup knew exactly what he was looking at. There were no smudged lines or corrections that Astrid could see. The boy had designed it himself, seen the images in his mind. An entire, fully operation watermill sat in his head and he had simply put it down on paper, with a list of the materials required to build it, and an estimate of the cost and time. Other calculations were there as well. A meticulous comparison between time spent collecting and cutting logs beforehand, and the time saved with the addition of the Mill.

And that was just the start. As Astrid flipped through the pile, she saw more and more designs. A system of trenches for getting fresh water to Berk's farms, a tower with a large bucket on the top and a nozzle underneath forming an artificial waterfall. So far as she could tell, it was so that the Vikings could bath more quickly. Who thought about that kind of thing? He had even devised a system to move water uphill using some sort of giant screw in a trough.

There were building plans. House designs unlike anything she had ever seen, which would keep Berk's houses toasty warm in the long, harsh winter, and cool in the summer no matter what the temperature. The secret lay in the way the opening and closing of various windows and doors affected the flow of air, which was drawn either from a strange basement forge, or a cool cellar with rat tunnels to the outdoors.

There were mechanical devices as well. On the civilian side, there were dozens of cranes and pulley systems all designed to ease the reconstruction process. Many of them were at work even today. Hiccup had recognized the springy quality of the siding planks on Viking longboats, and put it between the axle and the carriage of horse carts as a sort of shock absorber to soften the blow of uneven ground. It would probably cut the amount of broken wheels in half if anyone could be bothered to apply it. On the military side, Astrid recognized an incredible array of net-traps, ballistae, catapults, and trebuchets, all of which had been constructed and placed at strategic locations around Berk. She had grown up around them. Gobber had churned them out by the dozen. They were a staple of Berk's defensive strategy and they had _all come from Hiccup_? Out of that fourteen-year-old's brain? Thor almighty! She suddenly understood what Gobber had meant when he said brilliance off the battlefield.

It wasn't just completed designs, either. Astrid came across a ballistae which could fire an entire bundle of arrows, tied with thin twin designed to break under the strain of fire. It was difficult sometimes, to hit a dragon with one arrow. One had to lead the target and account for wind and other factors, all the while being careful that the Dragon wasn't after them. Yet with this machine… it would be impossible to miss! But it wasn't just one drawing. That design came with no less than twenty-six pages of revisions.

The door to the hall opened, letting in a gust of cold air. Laughter, giggling women and drunken shouting disrupted the silence. A great call echoed across the hall, and Astrid grimaced as she recognized Tuff-Nut's drawling, trollish voice. "Attention Hairy Hooligans!"

The Hall's few occupants, old Vikings and a bar maid or two, glanced up. Astrid kepther gaze fixed firmly upon the pages in front of her. Reading wasn't her usual activity, and she idly wonder if she'd be recognized at all.

A procession was entering the Hall. Two dozen young warriors came first, led by Tuff-Nut Thorston who had clearly found a new place for himself after Ruff-Nut's marriage inevitably separated the twins. The gangly warrior waved an arm and gave a majestic bow. "Second only to Stoick the Vast, I give you Snotlout Jorgenson, the Dragon's Bane. Second only to Chief Stoick the Vast himself!"

The older Vikings went back to their meals, unconcerned. Behind the bar, the maids began to fill their flagons, knowing what was coming. Astrid grimaced and stuck her nose further into the pages, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. The great hall had been a bad decision after all.

A gaggle of giggling women followed the warriors, with a brilliant white horse just behind them. Seated atop it… Ah. There he was, the _other _reason Astrid lived in the Dragon training arena. Gods how she hated him. Every inch of him. From his burly, bulging muscles to that aggressive spiky sideburns, to his horned helmet and smugly arrogant face. He was a spitting image of his father, lacking only in Spitelout's deference to roper authority. Snotlout wasn't interested in serving his chief, or his village. He was after glory.

Snotlout Dragon's Bane held up a hand and his entourage quieted down. He slipped off the horse, which was promptly removed and guided back out the door by his cousin Gustav. Snotlout strutted confidently down the length of the great hall. The rest of his group followed a few paces behind.

Astrid buried herself even further in the pages, and to her dismay the movement caught his eye. He sauntered over and leered at her.

"Hey Astrid."

She didn't look up. "Snotlout."

Across the table, a chair was pulled back. The man slouched into it, eyeing her up.

"What are you doing?"

"Reading."

"_Reading?_" Snotlout snorted. "Why read words when you can just kill the stuff the words tell you stuff about?"

"What if it was a book about farming?"

"I'm not a farmer, Astrid. Neither are you. We're both great warriors. I mean… you're obviously not as good as me, but there's no shame in that. No one else is either." He reached over to pat her hand sympathetically, but she lifted it off the table and sat on it. The man shot her a dirty look and crossed his arms. His chin was stuck out in an unsympathetic pout.

He said, "What would you say if I told you I was thinking of signing up to teach Dragon Training?"

"Nothing civil."

"I think the younger generations could benefit from my knowledge." He said, flexing visibly.

Astrid ignored him, mostly because she had no response to that. On the one hand, an entire village of miniature Snotlouts was a horrific image. She couldn't stand the man. On the other, once one stripped away the incredibly thick layers of ego, the man was a genuinely useful warrior. He did kill dragons. A lot of them. Not as many as she did, but Astrid was less interested in boasting than she was in seeing that the beasts did not steal their livestock, or burn their homes. Or eat any more children.

She was sorry to realize that Snotlout was still speaking. "You can stay too. I need an assistant. Someone needs to clean the arena after me and my Snot-Drops finish learning how to kick dragon ass."

"Snot-Drops?"

"My devoted students, obviously."

"Urk."

A barmaid came by and set a flagon of ale down in front of the burly Viking. He took several long gulps, then set it down and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

"Your mother turned down another one of my marriage offers."

"I'll have to thank her. Again. I didn't even know you'd made one."

"C'mon, Astrid. You and me? We belong together. Don't you want to be one of my Snotmen?"

She shot his entourage a withering glance. "With a name like that, how could I not?"

"I know, right?" he sat back and crossed his arms with a confidant grin. "I thought of it myself."

"I bet that took a while."

"Actually not at all." Snotlout said proudly. "It just rolled right off the tongue. I guess I'm just that brilliant."

"Yes. Yes you are."

"Exactly."

"Yep." Astrid kept her attention on the papers.

Snotlout huffed in frustration and leaned forward to grab the sheaf of papers. Without any warning a knife slammed down into the table, a mere inch from severing his pointer finger. Snotlout yelped and pulled his hand back. Holding his shocked gaze, Astrid let go of the weapon and went back to her reading. It remained there, fixed in the table.

"That's impressive aim, babe!" He said. "You hit right between my fingers."

"Don't call me that. And it was all luck; I wasn't looking."

For the first time since the conversation started, Snoutlout's confidence faltered. He said, "You weren't even looking? But… you could have taken a finger off!"

"All the more reason to keep them to yourself next time." She leaned forward. "It has to be obvious, how much I hate you. Go away."

Red slowly spread across the hairy hooligan's cheeks. He sat there, wide-eyed and huffing in fury. Astrid thought for a moment that he was winding up to hit her, but instead he slammed his mug down on the table and launched himself to his feet. He jabbed his finger at her. "One day, Astrid! One day!" Then he turned and stalked back to his admirers.

It was a vague threat he made once every few weeks. Unconcerned, Astrid resumed her examination of Hiccup's drawings. Across the bar, Snotlout and his companions set about drinking their evening away.

The remainder of the pile proved to be just as startling as the sizeable portion she had already read. Hiccup had invented tools of every variety, and solutions to a vast array of everyday problems which Berk still struggled with. There were building tools which used winches, levers, slings and ropework to lift enormous weights high off the ground with safety and control. There was even a fire suppression system. Metal pipes lead down from a lake high on the mountainside. The network would run high above the heads of Berk's citizens, a web of piping with each individual branch ending on the roof of a building. The water would flow out a spigot atop each building, with a wide spray nozzle designed to soak the entire structure with a fountain of droplets spraying in every direction.

Hiccup had specified that each spigot be sealed with a thick wad of candle wax. That way, the mere proximity of dragon fire would melt the wax. The water would come bursting through and soak anything nearby, but _only_ when it was near dragon fire.

Gods above, he was brilliant! How much property could this system have saved? How many buildings? How many lives? For the first time, Astrid felt a twinge of guilt. How badly she had treated him. This was a mind they could have nurtured much to Berk's benefit. Yet she had been so set on Dragons, on fighting and war…

The boy's loss was not a gift to Berk, despite his frequent accidents, it was a tragedy.

Equally disappointing was the fact that Gobber's collection, while fascinating, and something she intended to bring to Berk's attention, held no clues as to the Night Fury diagram, nor of Hiccup's other mysterious additions to the Book of Dragons.

Astrid was going to have to search closer to the source. She was going to have to talk to the Chief.


	6. Chapter 6

**Prodigal Son 6**

It was once again nighttime in Eskendereyya. Hiccup took a seat and let his knees dangle over the sandstone edge of the city's tetrapylon, an enormous archway overlooking the agora, a public gathering place. Hiccup had wandered it during the daytime. It was a fascinating place, always full of discussion and activity. Hiccup had been there not three days ago, discussing religion with a Christian missionary. The man had seemed hell-bent on convincing Hiccup to follow his one God. One! Just one! How could there only be one god?

'God is love' the priest had told him. Apparently the forgiving, all-powerful deity cared for his children. But how that be when such things as disease existed? At least the Norse gods, with their bickering, wars and in-fighting, explained the state of the world. Hiccup often wondered whether or not the world would be better managed if Odin stopped wandering and spent some more time on his throne.

Another man, from Jerusalem, had been trying to raise funds for a ladder to the sky. Had not the Prophet Muhammad had ascended to Heaven during the Mi'raj? Jacob too had seen a ladder, leading straight from heaven to earth. Accordingly heaven must have been a set distance from the ground, so a ladder long enough would surely be able to carry a man up there. Right?

Privately, Hiccup suspected that the quoted stories were more metaphorical than his companion thought. The reality of constructing such an object made the whole idea so much worse. Any ladder secure enough to reach all the way to heaven would have to have an enormous base in order to support its own weight. Instead of wood, it would have to be constructed of the strongest stone to keep itself from collapsing to either side in the wind (although perhaps something could be done with ropes, the way masts were held up on ships). No matter, it was a costly, time-consuming project and Hiccup suspected that the God's wouldn't appreciate mortals suddenly knocking on the doors of Valhalla without an invitation.

All in all, a bad idea.

During one of his exploratory expeditions, Hiccup himself had tried to touch the sky. Yet no matter how high he flew, the stars were always miles away. It got mighty cold up there, and the air got very thin. He had nearly passed out. If it hadn't been for Toothless' insistence that they wouldn't go any further, they both would have suffered horrible deaths.

The dragon was with him now, inspecting the bustling crowds below with his big, round, curious green eyes. An older man in a turban passed under the arch, carrying a bucket of raw red meat with him.

"Stay." Hiccup ordered as Toothless leaned all the way over the side of the sandstone structure until his head was poking out upside down under the archway, watching the man's retreating back. Thankfully no one on the ground noticed.

From his satchel, Hiccup retrieved one of Anton Pandev's broken pulleys. He carefully examined the splintered wooden device, picking the mechanism apart in his mind's eye. He visualized the theoretical repaired pieces, how they were supposed to come together, and how the various forces acting upon the pulley caused it to fail in the first place.

Friction between the rope and the pulley's outer race was negligible. At least for simple systems. There came a point in block and tackle systems where the reduced effort was countered by the sheer amount of friction between the rope and the pulley system.

Pulley systems were similar to levers in that they were a tradeoff between force and distance. Basic pulley systems could halve, even quarter the amount of work required to perform a task whether it was lift a weight, provide tension, or tether a moving object as these were meant to. It didn't matter. Two forces were applied to either end of the line. One force had to overcome the other. One man could lift a load fit for four, but he'd require around four times the distance in rope.

In this case, failure had occurred between the pulley and its axle. Too much friction had resulted in the mechanical system seizing up and cracking. Lubrication was helpful of course, when applied properly. Shahira had told him that she had rubbed wax on the pulley, and she had. She had just applied it to the groove which the rope ran through instead of the contact points between the axle and the wheel.

Toothless the dragon let out a low, curious coo. He nudged the pulley with his nose, sniffing it.

"Yeah, you can smell the fish on it, can't you, buddy?"

Toothless sat on his haunches and fixed Hiccup with an excited look, tongue lolling and black tail wagging.

"Calm down, bud. We'll eat later. Have some patience."

Toothless' tail flopped to the sandstone surface. The dragon fixed him with a scowl. It huffed in annoyance and curled up on the far side of the tetrapylon. He shot Hiccup one last glare then put his tail flap up so he didn't have to look at the boy.

"Oh, quit whining you big baby." Hiccup shook his head and looked down at the pulley, considering the problem. Even if the device had been properly and regularly lubricated, which it hadn't, that wouldn't have solved their problem.

A different system was needed. A new solution.

Hiccup set the pulley down beside him and clasped his hands on his thighs, watching the crowds ebb and flow beneath him. Several carts rolled by, bouncing down the cobbled street. He watched their wheels turn, visualizing the system. Wheel and Axle…

Not entirely applicable, since the axle on the cart was actually fixed to the wheel. It was a different system.

Yet Hiccup's gut was telling him that the answer was in there somewhere. Friction was the problem. And wheels were so effective because they rolled instead of sliding, thus negating friction between the load and the surface it needed to travel across.

Round objects handled compressive forces differently. That was the secret behind Roman arches. Once, on a bet with a priest, Hiccup had used four eggs to support a thick copy of the Bible. Members of the priest's congregation promptly accused him of sorcery and chased him away with pitchforks and torches. In retrospect it was a good thing he had not told them about toothless. Still, there was strength concealed in the shape of a circle. Load bearing and minimal friction…

He began to search the street scene for other circles. Other examples. A shopkeeper's fruit stand yielded no answers. A few more carts trundled by, but Hiccup's gaze fell upon a group of children, who had set up a game of marbles in a narrow doorway near the base of the arch. He watched the small globes roll across the mat, impacting one another.

At that very moment, the curtain opened and a scribe carrying an armful of scrolls stepped out onto the street. His feet slid on the marbles, upsetting the children's game and more importantly sending him flying. His scrolls scattered across the causeway. One of them rolled open in the middle of the street, revealing a map of Eskendereyya with several important landmarks circled on it, including the Pharos lighthouse. The Scribe dove for it and scooped it up in his arms. A crowd gathered immediately, helping him back to his feet. A few stern-looking adults chased the children away while others delivered the poor man's other scrolls back to him. The harried Scribe thanked them and hurried away towards the docks.

But Hiccup's mind was elsewhere as he replayed the image. The marbles had rolled under the scribe's feet. They had taken the compressive force of his weight, and rolled easily with the motion.

That was the secret! Put the wheel inside the pulley!

He leapt to his feet. "C'mon bud! I gotta get back to the forge!"

The dragon let out an impudent huff.

Hiccup sighed. "And we'll grab some fish for you on the way."

* * *

><p>Yanick Erwan arrived at his smithy early the following morning to find that the furnace was already lit. He stepped behind the curtain which separated the forge from the storefront. Alan was standing at the counter, looking thoroughly put-out.<p>

"Yanick." The apprentice said. "Hiccup booted me out of the forge."

"I'm amazed y1ou wanted to be in there in the first place." Yanick replied evenly. "All those 'grandma's funerals' you've had."

Alan opened and shut his mouth several times. "Sorry." He managed lamely.

"Sure you are." Yanick strode past him into the forge. The room was a mess. Tools were strewn across every available surface. The fire in the forge was going, but no one was working the bellows. Hiccup was sitting at his bench. Wire, thin iron strips and other small bits of metal had been placed in a semi-circle around him. Hiccup was asleep, his faced pressed into some unknowable device which lay open on the table before him. He was snoring lightly, completely unaware of Yanick's presence.

Yanick sighed and shook his head impatiently and turned to the beaten anvil. A device was sitting on it, and in its shape the smith recognized a Pulley. With a shock he realized it was the young man's solution to Anton Pandev's problems. Instead of the simple wooden constructs Pandev's fishing vessel used, this was a combination of wood and metal, bolted together. The boy had done something… insane.

The pulley had been separated into two parts; an outer ring, which came into contact with the rope, and an inner ring, which was meant to be fixed upon an axle. Neither ring touched the other. Instead, between the two of them, he had place marbles. They were spaced evenly around the perimeter of the inner ring, locked in position by thin metal strips bound together with tightly wound wire. They ran along a smooth, oiled track.

Yanick held the device up in his hand and gave it a spin. The interior disk stayed completely still, while the outer spun easily and smoothly, and relatively quietly.

He had put Marbles in a pulley. Children's marbles! What on God's green earth…

Yet the more Yanick thought about it, the more sense it made. It was a brilliant idea, and there was no one else insane enough to think of it, never mind actually try it.

A year ago when he'd hired the strange young Dane, he had recognized Hiccup's brilliance. It had only been proven again. The young man had wandered into his shop holding a broken linkage of some kind, and offering his services in manual labor in return for the repair. Over the following few days he had proven beyond any doubt that he was possessed of mechanical genius and he knew his way around a smithy. Yanick had scooped him up and given him a place as an apprentice and associate. Yet he still knew next to nothing about Hiccup beyond the man's insatiable curiosity and strange habits.

He quietly set the prototype down on the young smith's bench. Hiccup's robe had fallen on the floor around him. Yanick carefully picked it up and draped it across his protégé's shoulders. The youth shifted slightly and murmured something in Danish, though Yanick caught the word 'Gobber'. Not for the first time, he wondered where on earth the young man came from, and whether or not anyone was missing him back home.

* * *

><p><strong>As far as my research (read: google) indicates, the tetrapylon in Alexandria would have looked similar to the Arch of Galerius in Thessaloniki, Greece. Regular tetrapylons were Roman monuments usually consisting of four sets of four columns built with four archways. They were usually constructed at important intersections in cities and towns. This particular arch had been placed on Canopic Street (one of Alexandria's major streets) near the library, the museum, and several temples. Not to mention the Agora or 'meeting place'. A part of the city designated for everything from civic festivals to philosophical debates.<strong>

**I hope the mechanical jibber-jabber isn't too dull. But I find it's an aspect of Hiccup's personality which is under-stressed in other fics. Perhaps this is understandable on the basis that stories and characters require more emotional journeys for reader engagement, but Hiccup built a flightsuit, a false tail, and impressively complex mechanical systems out of simple materials available to a pre-industrial society. The clockwork visible in Toothless' tail in 'Gift of the Nightfury', as well as the springs mentioned in HTTYD2 -the ones which govern the stabilizing fin on the back of his flightsuit- were invented around the 1500's or later. This puts Hiccup's mechanical expertise at least six hundred years ahead of his time. I realize that this may be overanalyzing things, but his intellect and problem-solving skills in this area should not be neglected. I hope I'm doing them justice.**

**The marbles idea is a rudimentary version of modern ball bearings. As I said, Hiccup is working waaaay ahead of his time.**


	7. Chapter 7

Prodigal Son 7

Berk's chieftain lived alone. In other tribes, more ambitious Vikings might have mistaken this for weakness, and moved against him, but not the Hairy Hooligans. Stoick the Vast's prowess in battle was universally recognized, and his authority absolute. The only change had merely been Iona the Cook's nightly visitations as she provided him with a hot meal at the end of his long day.

Except for tonight. Tonight Astrid was delivering his meal. Iona had seemed more than happy to let someone else take on the delivery. At the end of the cook's shift, Astrid had witnessed her leaving with her husband, the two of them heading down towards the docks together. Astrid made up her mind to volunteer more often, if only to give the cook the break she obviously welcomed.

Her path bright in the moonlight, Astrid stalked down the long staircase towards Stoick's hut. She was thankful that the chieftain didn't live near the forge on the far side of Berk. The path was relatively short, and she wasn't at much risk of spilling the bowl of hot stew she was carrying. The Haddock Hall had once been an imposing, majestic building. Yet the exterior was marred with scorch marks from dragon attacks. The logs themselves, thick and heavy, were getting old. They had cracked in some places. The mud and rope used to seal its cracks had fallen out, or been eaten away by time and the elements. It was not obvious in the daytime, but firelight flickered through dozens of tiny holes and cracks in the walls, scattering beams of light across the surrounding grass.

Astrid approached the door hesitantly. Inside there was only silence, save for the crackle of the fire. She reached up with and knocked three times with a steady hand.

Within, there was the sound of a scraping chair, and heavy footfalls creaking on old timber. A latch was wrestled with, and the door jerked open to reveal a mountain-sized silhouette casting its shadow upon her.

Astrid stared up at her Chief. She could barely make out his features in the dull light. Between his thick bearskin cape, and immense bulk, Stoick the Vast blocked out most of the doorway, with only a few bright streams illuminating his feet. Light threaded through his graying hairs, creating a fuzzy haze around his head. It was one of the rare moments Astrid had seen him without his long hair tied back, or his helmet.

"Astrid?" His thick, deep voice was lightly tinged with surprise.

Astrid held up the large bowl of stew in her hand, half a loaf of bread was soaking in it. "Dinner?"

"Thank you." Stoick's enormous hand eclipsed hers as, with a certain amount of gentility, he took the bowl. He shifted, the light for a moment revealed wrinkled, hawkish green eyes and a dark red beard, streaked with grey. He studied her for a moment.

"Spit it out, Astrid."

"Sir?"

"Iona usually brings the meals. You wouldn't be here unless you had something to say."

"I… um…. Snotlout mentioned he wanted to take up dragon training." Astrid was here for Hiccup's papers, but somehow she suspected a blunt request to search his personal belongings would not end well. She had intended to ease Stoick into it, so to speak.

"Mmm." Stoic frowned. "Did he, now?" The enormous Viking moved aside. Astrid took the invitation and stepped across the threshold with as much humility as she could muster. She settled in a small chair beside the fireplace. Stoick's home was well lived-in. Old weapons hung on the walls. A section of the lower floor had been walled off to create a bedroom for the Chief. Astrid's gaze inevitably slid sideways to the staircase which lead to the upper mezzanine; Hiccup's old room. Each stair was covered in a thick layer of dust. Several years had passed since someone had last set a foot upon that staircase.

Several of Hiccup's small trinkets had been placed at a small altar to Thor. A tiny horned helmet hung on a nail which had been driven deep into a nearby wooden pillar. As she examined it, a cold, dead weight settled on Astrid's shoulders.

Stoick strode past her. "I'm not sure why we need anyone else. You're doing a wonderful job in the ring, Astrid." The Chieftain's lips hinted a smile. "You're doing Berk a great service."

Astrid felt a flash of pride. "Thank you, sir."

Stoick crossed Haddock Hall, his feet retreading a pale, worn path towards an enormous table with a water jug and several glasses on it. He poured himself a glass, and then offered one to her. Astrid shook her head politely.

"So…" Stoick settled back into his own chair, which creaked in protest. "Snotlout wants to be a dragon trainer."

"Yes."

"Hmm…" the Chieftain's brows knitted. "And your opinion?"

"I'll do my duty to Berk."Astrid said diplomatically.

"Didn't ask that. Asked what you thought."

"I can't stand him, sir." She said honestly. "He's half the reason I'm in the ring so much."

"Ah…" Stoic shifted awkwardly. "Spitelout did say your family turned down another marriage offer."

"My duty is to my clan first, sir."

"Aye, as every shield-maiden's should be." Stoick nodded in satisfaction. "But one day Snotlout is going to be Chief, Astrid."

She grimaced. "Really?"

His eyes flicked to Hiccup's forlorn helm and he pressed his lips together in a thin line. "Really. If you turn him down then it'll mean disaster for the Hofferson name. A Jorgenson with a Hofferson is a fine pairing which strengthens both houses and Berk as a whole."

"Right." Astrid said, as much to herself as to Stoick, "I'll just have to hope there's a dragon raid before our wedding night so I can enter Valhalla with dignity."

"Mind how you speak, Astrid." Stoick said quietly "He may not bear my name but he is a cousin. Haddock blood flows through his veins."

"Oh? I thought it was tall tales and mead."

Stoick gave her a stern look.

"Sorry sir."

He took a sip from his mug. "I heard you'd dismissed the class early a few days ago."

"Yes. I was… looking through some of Hiccup's old drawings. At the Smithy. Did Gobber say anything to you?"

Stoick chuckled. "Gobber hasn't had much to say to me in a long time."

Astrid frowned. The Smith and the Chieftain had been friends as long as she could remember. Though come to think of it, she didn't see them together that often in a while. At least, not since Hiccup's death.

"Gobber keeps his peace. When we're out and about at any rate. He know's it won't help things to be fighting." He set his mug down with a clink and fixed her with a keen stare. His voice grew a tad colder. "What in Hel's realm were _you_ looking through Hiccup's old doodles for, at any rate?"

"Guilt, I guess. I didn't have much to do with him when he was alive."

"It's been eight long years, Astrid."

"Have you see Gustav lately? He looks like Hiccup did. I'm training him every day in the ring." She shrugged. "Lately it's been bringing up some old memories."

"Aye." Stoick nodded slowly, his face softening.

"Have you looked through the pages? Hiccup had some brilliant ideas. Some of them we've already built."

"The mill, I know."

"He can still help Berk, sir." Stoick was staring at her, pale and ash, and stone-faced. Astrid continued regardless, praying silently to any of the gods that her Chief would listen to her. "The fact is that I delivered your food tonight because, with all due respect to both you and his memory-"

"You want to see his room…"

"I was hoping to go up there and see if he had any more drawings…"

The Chief was staring past her now, into torturous thoughts, or some far-off, painful memory.

"It'd be good for Berk, sir. I can't even guess how much it would hurt to go through it all, but there's no point in keeping it all locked up. Not of it'll save lives."

"You think that's what I'm doing, Astrid?" Stoick said, "Hoarding?"

"I didn't mean it like that, sir. I just meant-"

But the enormous Viking was building up steam, his cheeks were growing red. "Do you realize what those beasts did to us? Do you think Hiccup died a Warrior's death, Astrid? Do you think he died with a weapon in his hand? Do you think he made it into Valhalla?"

Astrid kept her mouth shut, but her expression must have spoken volumes

"When I next see my son, there'll be no talk. It'll be at Ragnarok, and we'll be crossing blades!" Stoick said, shaking his head. "He's in Hel's armies now. That is what the beasts have done to us! ...I can't go up there."

"With his designs we can improve our defenses and insure no more children die the way he did." Astrid argued, feeling her foundations crumble. She was infringing on a private matter. Hiccup's notes rightfully belonged to Stoick, and his room was a place of mourning for the father. She had no business there. Besides, there was no guarantee that she'd find anything more there than she had reading through Gobber's collection. "I think it'll help at least." She said lamely.

"And I think this discussion is over." He growled. "Those were my son's private things."

Astrid nodded and rose stiffly, fighting an internal duel between disappointment and resignation. No matter how curious she was, she could not directly disobey her Chief. Especially not with something so personal. She hoped whatever strand Fishlegs was following, he'd have more success. She gently closed the door behind her and headed home, her mind in turmoil.

* * *

><p><strong>I hope to explore more of Stoick's issues in later chapters.<strong>

**In the previous chapter, Hiccup has several thoughts about aspects of religion and religious beliefs. A concerned reader pointed out that some might get offended by that. I felt that Hiccup, who has the very analytical mind an inventor needs, would inevitably start picking at bits of the lore which didn't make sense to him. Hiccup is a Danish Viking. He believes in the Nordic gods and Nordic traditions. He is neither a Christian, nor a Muslim. Given his own background, he would probably consider the myths and trappings of those other religions to be ridiculous in a benign way. In fact he'd probably identify best with the Greeks, the Romans, and the Egyptians. All three of those races had similar pantheons of gods from which they drew many different individual myths as opposed to one overarching story. These structural differences would I think make Christianity appear rather ridiculous.**

**I tried to write it as I thought it would happen.**

**To those of you craving the reunion, I beg you, exercise patience. It will come, and things will pick up in the next few chapters. A major problem I've found with most Wandering!Hiccup stories is that they always seem to skip the Wandering, thus negating all dramatic tension in the return. Only one writer in this fandom has actually managed to pull that off, and I hate to say it but none of us are going to match Midoriko-Sama's 'Becoming' trilogy. **


	8. Chapter 8

Prodigal Son 8

**I'm going to do an experiment here.**

**I've begun annotating this story to mark the relevant passages between the text and the notes below. I'll be including little factoids and broader historical context for what's happening inside the story itself. If you're interested, give it a read. If not, feel free to skip right by it. Let me know if you'd like them to continue, though.**

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><p>The port of Eskendereyya was bustling with activity. Sailors, soldiers, traders and fisherman marched, walked, and ran from dock to dock, many of them transporting various goods back and forth in the cool, clear morning air. Hiccup was at times forced to dodge cartloads of fish, meat, and grain. A line of crewman were passing crated chickens down carefully off of a larger freighter, forming a chain from the dock up to a large farming cart which was no doubt headed to the city's busy marketplace. They were forced to stand aside as an entire herd of goats passed by.<p>

Hiccup drank it all in with joy and wonder. He loved the docks; it was one of the places he felt that he'd found civilization at its height. The city could be viewed as a sort of… imprint. Like a lake which all the rivers ran towards, it warped the landscape and industry around it. How many farmers for miles and miles in all directions worked every day to feed it? How many fisherman? How many artisans and engineers? Eskendereyya pulled in resources from all of Egypt and the Mediterranean, and beyond them to Arabia and Asia. It pulled in raw materials and gave out plays and writing and complex machines, and new ideas… It was a giant mechanism all its own, of which the residents were only a small part. The machine of civilization.

He looked down at his wheelbarrow full of the brand new pulleys, and felt proud he was contributing to it.

Anton Pandev's boat was tied up at the poorer docks at the far end of the Port. His daughter Shahira was on the deck, pulling down the mainsail and fastening it to the boom. She heard the rattle of the wheelbarrow down the length of the dock, and smiled at Hiccup as he approached, but she didn't stop working. She was dressed in a light tunic and a sheep's wool vest, along with leather leggings. Comfortable, practical clothes for a hard day's laboring. It reminded Hiccup of Astrid's habit of always appearing in armor no matter the occasion. Practical always had impressed him more far than decorative.

"How's your nose?" she called out.

"Still sore. Thanks for the reminder."

As he approached, Anton Pandev exited the forward hold, clambering up a steep ladder and into the light of day. He was followed by a bearded, stern-looking guard wearing a red cape, a studded, and stained leather cuirass, and a rather dented conical helmet. The soldier slipped a thin package under his cape as he strode confidently off the boat. Hiccup gave him a polite nod and stepped aside. It didn't do to cause trouble for guardsmen; they remembered faces.

"Hiccup!" Anton exclaimed merrily. The Fisherman threw his arms open in greeting. "Welcome to the Pandev family's little slice of heaven!"

"Good to see you again!" Hiccup replied as the fisherman stepped onto the dock. "Who was that?"

"Just one of the port guardsmen. He wanted to take a look at our docking papers."

"And the package you gave him?"

Anton grimaced, "As I said, he wanted to have a 'look' at our paperwork. Docking and administration fees are collected by the guards."

"Isn't that more the job of the treasury's collectors?" Hiccup asked, frowning.

Anton gritted his teeth. "Ah. You must be thinking of the _Government's_ docking and administration fees."

Hiccup bit his lip, glaring down the dock at the retreating figure. "That's immoral."

"It's a part of life."

"It's racketeering!"

"Look around you." Anton gestured at the surrounding ships. "Every day a couple hundred fisherman land here to sell our goods at the markets. And every day they buy our product. We always have a market here. We're never turned away. More importantly, Hiccup, this is the only area of the Mediterranean which the Moorish pirates can't touch. And the guards know it."

"It's blind robbery!"

"It's life, Hiccup. We live in… interesting times. Now, what have you got for me?"

Hiccup sighed and shook his head as the distant guard disappeared into the crowds which thronged the quay. He reached down and threw the wheelbarrow's covering aside.

Anton stared in silence at the pile of newly redesigned pulleys. With an expression nearing wonder, he carefully reached down and pulled one out, giving it a gentle spin. Hiccup felt burst of pride as it clicked away, spinning evenly and effortlessly.

"What in god's name have you done…?" The fisherman murmured, stroking his moustache.

"I put wheels inside the pulley." Hiccup said proudly.

"If you say so. Those look like marbles to me…"

"They'll work."

Anton gave the pulley another spin, and then set it carefully down on the cart. "Alright, Master Hiccup."

"Haddock. Hiccup Haddock."

"Hadd… really? Haddock? Hiccup Haddock?" The fisherman's brows rose. On the deck not four feet away, Shahira was snickering as she coiled a rope and stowed it away.

"Yeah… that was my dad's fault." Hiccup said, blushing. "He named me."

"And you kept it." Shahira said, skipping easily off the boat and onto the deck. "Scandinavia's months and months north of here. You could have taken any name you pleased and you kept 'Hiccup Haddock'." She reached down and examined one of the pulleys.

"Here in Eskendereyya at least." Hiccup said. "How do you know where Scandinavia is?"

She shot him a smirk over the pulley she was toying with. "Surprised?"

"Impressed." Hiccup corrected, smirking right back. "I didn't really know that world geography would be of interest to a fisherman…"

"There are free lectures in the Agora almost every night. Poets, philosophers, astronomers, alchemists, mathematicians…" she glanced down at the pulley. "Looks to me like you'd fit right in with that crowd. I hope Yanick pays you well."

"Free lectures?" Hiccup asked eagerly. Reading books in the Library was one thing, but to speak to actual mathematicians and philosophers… _that_ was something else entirely!

"Didn't know about them?" Shahira sighed. "I'm not surprised. They've kinda gone underground."

"Speaking of payment…" Anton reached into his money pouch.

"Actually I was… I was hoping I could take away a basket of fish." Hiccup tried awkwardly.

The fisherman's hand stayed fixed in his pocket as he stared at the young man. "Fish?"

"A basket please."

"What are you going to do with a basket full of _fish?_" Shahira asked incredulously.

"Take it to the library." Hiccup replied, feeling his cheeks grow red.

Shahira laughed. "And teach them to read?"

"Possibly. You don't know they can't."

"Any particular type?" Anton probed.

"Haddock, for instance." Shahira suggested with a sly smile. She set the pulley down in the wheelbarrow.

"If you can manage." Hiccup said dryly. "I was actually hoping to set up a more permanent arrangement. I'll fix things, and help you guys out in return for a steady supply."

"I dunno how steady that work's going to be." Anton said thoughtfully. "But I can give you a basket now if you'd like. And I'll let you know if we have any more problems."

"Can I pick it up this evening?"

"I suppose."

Shahira's arm slipped through Hiccup's elbow as the woman came up to stand beside him. "He'll grab it when he drops me off tonight."

"Dwaa?" Hiccup inquired politely, staring at her. He suddenly felt extremely self-conscious, and he didn't dare look Anton in the eye.

She snickered. "Well said. There's a lecture on in the Agora later today, and there's no way _you're_ not going to come with me to see it."

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><p>At that moment a nervous young man in a dirty robe brushed past them and approached Anton. He was carrying a bundle of scrolls under his arm which the fisherman carefully removed and placed in an empty barrel on the dock. Anton pulled another money pouch from his pocket and handed it to the visitor, who turned to leave.<p>

With a shock, hiccup recognized him as the Scribe from the previous night. The very same man who had tripped over the marbles and given Hiccup the idea for his new pulleys. He smiled at the man. "I know you. Maps, right?"

The surly scribe fixed him with a wide-eyed, apprehensive look.

"What's your name?"

"My business is my own, stranger." The man snarled peevishly. He hurried away, keeping his head down.

"I'm glad we had this talk." Hiccup called after him. He turned back to Anton. "The thing I love most about his city is the sense of community…"

The fisherman was laughing. "Pontius is a… well…"

"He's a hopeless grouch." Shahira elaborated.

"But his maps are first-class." Anton said. "Decent star charts are worth their weight in gold."

Shahira gave him a sidelong look. "How did you know about the maps?"

"I saw him last night." Hiccup explained. "He tripped on some marbles. He actually gave me the idea for the pulleys"

Anton stroked his beard. "Small world."

"Apparently."

"C'mon, Hiccup." Shahira tugged on his arm. "We've got things to do and we're losing daylight."

Anton sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, turning away from them.

Hiccup smiled at her. "What did you have in mind?"

In the Agora, a tent had been set up. It was made of extremely thick, heavy cloth, and was held up with bulks of timber. A dozen locals were lined up outside it, waiting patiently. Even as Hiccup and Shahira approached, two locals exited the tent, discussing what they had just seen with subdued, yet wondrous tones.

"A camera obscura!" Hiccup exclaimed excitedly.

"You know about them?" Shahira asked. She took a bite out of her fried fish. [1]

Hiccup nodded excitedly. "Saw one in Jerusalem." He joined the short line to enter the tent.

Shahira followed, her eyes suddenly alight with excitement. "You were in Jerusalem?"

"For a few months. It's beautiful there!" his face fell as he remembered the riots and turmoil. "Though… it's not a stable place."

"My father says we're going there one day." Shahira told him eagerly. "He says the keystone of the world is there."

"It's the The Dome of the Rock." Hiccup nodded. "It's beautiful. And the temple is over two hundred years old but it feels like the newest building in the city."

"Did you see the foundation Stone itself?"

"Yeah. I cried." He admitted quietly. "You realize you're at the center of the world. Just what it means to be standing there…"

"I bet it's incredible." She said dreamily.

"It is! I have this theory that the further you are from the Stone, the colder the world is! I mean Scandinavia is miles and miles away, and it's really, really cold over there. But I'd need to travel that far in the every direction to find out."

She gave him a sidelong look. "What is your home called?"

Hiccup grimaced. "Berk. It's in an archipelago on the northern edge of Scandinavia."

She took another thoughtful bite. "That is pretty far. What's it like there?"

"It was absolutely lovely."

"Do I detect a hint of sarcasm?"

"Perhaps a carefully measured pinch or two." He allowed.

"A well-seasoned statement topped with a slice of bitterness." she studied him. "Sore subject."

"A bit."

"Well what about afterwards? You spent some time in Jerusalem."

"Went to the Isles of Britain first. Then down south. Ended up fleeing the Moors in the Iberian Peninsula[2]." Thankfully their hails of arrows hadn't been able to fly as high, or as quickly as Toothless. "I ended up in Byzantium for a while, working as a member of the Varangians[3]. My unit was dispatched to fight the Bulgarians."

"Didn't we lose?"

"Yep." Hiccup winced bitterly. All that useless slaughter… wading through those bloodsoaked battlefields were some of his worst memories. He sighed and absentmindedly rubbed the scar which ran across his chest. The axe had cut deep, scraping his ribs. If Toothless hadn't plucked him off the battlefield, he probably would have died there.

He said, "I finally got back to Byzantium and hadn't been there a week before I was ordered to break into churches and destroy all their sacred objects[4]."

Shahira stared. "What? Why?"

"Because orders." He replied shortly, "I quit and ran."

"Well yeah, but… what good would destroying holy objects do? Isn't that sacrilege?"

"I have no idea and I don't really care to know. It was probably as pointless and stupid as all my other orders." He said, a shade coldly.

Shahira threw up her hands and turned away. "Alright, sorry!"

"I don't mean to…" Hiccup grabbed her hands as gently as he dared, and spun her back around. They were nearly at the tent, and hiccup was looking forward to the strange sight he knew awaited them inside it. Shahira was looking up at him with doleful brown eyes. He felt a twinge of regret. He hadn't intended to put her off or hurt her feelings. "I'm sorry for that. I just don't really like a lot of what happened. The world is a big place, and it's pretty crazy. That's why I'm here now. I'm trying to put all that behind me and start again, alright?"

"As a blacksmith?"

Hiccup smiled. "I have the skills. Might as well use them. I'm no soldier, Shahira. I can't just follow orders."

She examined his resolute features for a moment, then gave in and smiled back. "You think too much."

"Better than thinking too little."

"Hey!" the man at the tent's entrance waved at them. "You two want in?"

Hiccup placed a few coins in his palm. Still gripping her by the hand, he led Shahira through the tent's open flap, and into the darkness beyond.

A wooden panel had been incorporated into one wall of the tent. In it was a hole, barely larger than a pinprick. Yet the light streamed through it, and on the opposite wall was an image. A moving painting, upside down and reversed, yet still decipherable. It was an image of the street scene outside the tent, changing in real time.[5]

Carts passed by, their rattling muffled by the thick cloth walls, yet Hiccup and Shahira could see their wheels turning against the white canvas on the tent's far wall. People flowed across the canvas, some carrying baskets, or pushing barrows in front of them. A series of guardsmen marched past, their armor clanking in rhythm with the image.

Hiccup took a seat, cross-legged on the sand. Shahira followed, and laid her head on his shoulder as they both watched the moving image.

"Why do you think it does that?"

"I don't know." Hiccup admitted. "But I've always wondered…"

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><p><strong>[1] Deep frying went back as far as the fourth century, as demonstrated in the ancient roman cook book Apicius. Indeed, the cooking method of frying is actually thought to have been invented in Egypt some twenty-five thousand years BC. That's roughly 4,500 years ago. Whether or not the frying techniques invented included deep frying, it's up for debate. Long story short, French Fries (Or Chips if you're AustralianBritish) were invented **_**before**_** McDonalds.**

**[2] Spain was invaded by, and at war with Muslims for quite a lot of the middle ages. The Reconquista (711-1492), was the opening salvo of the crusades. A ridiculously stupid series of wars during which the Christians tried repeatedly to retake the holy land from the Muslims. The first invasion was actually an attempt to save Constantinople, the eastern capital of Christendom, from a supposed attack. Yet when the rescuers arrived, the citizens of Constantinople assumed they were there to take the city, and promptly shut the gates. The Rescuers took this rather badly, and laid siege to the city. It resulted in one of the biggest, stupidest mistakes in Military history.**

**Later waves actually managed to make it down to Jerusalem to fight the enemy (a novel concept). Nothing actually lasted. They kept running out of supplies and manpower. It takes a lot longer to march an army across Europe and south to Jerusalem than it does to simply give weapons to the people living there…**

**[3] An anonymous reader suggested I work Hiccup in as a member of the Varangian Guard. This is a fantastic idea and I'm going to do it. The Varangians served the Byzantine Empire for an enormous chunk of medieval history, but they started out as Vikings who had settled instead of raiding, and they earned and kept a reputation as an elite group of effective, professional, and totally fucking badass warriors. They even served as the private Imperial Guardsmen for the Byzantine emperors themselves. **

**I hope you'll forgive me but I'm twisting history a little; to my knowledge no Varangian guards were sent west during the Reconquista (the precursor to the crusades). They were more of a force to be reckoned with a century or two after this story takes place. But they were too badass to ignore.**

**[4] The Byzantine Iconoclast was another historical headscratcher. Religious images were banned and destroyed. The Emperor at the time apparently felt that God punished Christians who worshipped using symbols of Jesus and the Saints. His evidence for this was the loss of a great many battles including the war with the Bulgarians which Hiccup mentioned earlier. So the Emperor ordered all depictions of Jesus and the saints destroyed to appease God.**

**[5] The Camera Obscura was a curiosity for ancient peoples. A tent with a very small opening at one end, and a blank wall at the other. The small amount of light which makes it into the tent projects an image on the far wall. An ancient Arabic scientist named Alhazen used it to demonstrate some key aspects about the behavior of light. Those basic concepts are still used today in the design of cameras. They were also the start of a chain of scientific discoveries which has enabled us to predict with certainty on a molecular level, what every visible star across the galaxy is made of. **

**On an interesting sidenote, the image projected onto the retina of your eyeball is also actually upside down and backwards. Your brain flips the images you see upright for you. Pretty cool, huh?**

**A reader asked me to get further into Hiccup's history. I'm not sure how far I'm going to be able to go. After all, this is about his last adventure, and what happens when he gets home. It'll cover the tail end of his journey. But yes, he learned how to fight. I'll likely get more into that in later chapters.**

**As I said these ending footnotes are an experiment. If you guys like and appreciate the history, I'll see if I can include more of it. If not, let me know. I'll still work to keep the story itself as true to history as a story with dragons can be ;). Either way, let me know.**


	9. Chapter 9

Prodigal son 9

A pair of hands gripped Astrid's shoulder, shaking her gently. She groaned in protest. The Hofferson hall was still dark, and she could hear the quiet snoring and murmuring of the Hofferson clan sleeping all around her.

"Astrid…" that was her mother's voice. Her shoulders were shaken again, and she forced her tired eyes open, blinking as she adjusted to the darkness. A shadow in a nightgown was hovering over her.

"Astrid, wake up!" her mother whispered again.

She groaned again and drove her palms into her eyes, rubbing them vigorously. Then she sat up in her bed. Beside her, cousin Eerika let out a sleepy protest and buried her head under a straw pillow. Now that Astrid was lacking the warmth of the blankets, the cold air bit her bare skin, and a shiver ran up her spine. She hugged her shoulders.

Her mother, Brunhilda, was standing beside the bed, a blanket wrapped tightly around her.

"Mum?"

"Astrid, Fishlegs is at the door." Brunhilda reported, frowning at her daughter.

Astrid nodded, blinking myopically. "Right. Tell him I'll get dressed."

"Astrid, what is he doing here at this time of night?"

"It's…complicated."

Brunhilda's troubled stare followed her daughter as she went through the familiar motions of getting dressed, and gathering her gear.

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><p>As she stepped out the front door of the Hoffersons' hall, Astrid put her hood up, relishing the warmth of the coarse furs. The cold air stung her cheeks, but despite her best efforts, her eyelids still refused to remain open for more than a few seconds at a time.<p>

Fishlegs was standing just a few meters away, waiting patiently, though the twinkle in his eyes betrayed his excitement. He had a pack on his shoulder, and two canteens full of water.

"Fishlegs! You know what time it is?" Astrid stifled a yawn. Gods above, how she wanted to crawl right back into bed! The cold was beginning to seep through the thinner cloth of her leggings, and when she sniffed, it stung her nostrils.

He grinned at her. "Payback."

She blinked and cocked her head. "What? For what?"

"Waking my daughter up in the middle of the night so you could show me a book." He replied. His tone was excited and gleeful, despite the scolding nature of his words.

"Ah. Yeah. Sorry about that."

"Oh, no! No! No!" his grin was widening. "This is great! You'll never guess where it led! Hiccup was brilliant!"

"Yeah." She shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah I'm starting to realize that. Gobber gave me his sketches."

Fishlegs shook his head. "I'm not talking about sketches. Come with me! You have to see this!"

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><p>When the sun finally rose, it found Astrid and Fishlegs deep in the wooded wilderness to the east of their village. The forest floor was covered in dense, green flora. Astrid could feel dozens of fine prickles which had stuck in her pants, and were lightly scratching her with every movement. Through the trees to the north, she could see the orange light of dawn, sparkling on the ocean waves. It threw beams of light through the low mist which shrouded the forest floor. She stepped over a fallen, moss-covered log and paused to take a sip from one of the canteens Fishlegs had brought.<p>

He moved easily through the forest, and he'd brought leather leggings to shield against the brambles which were such an irritant to her. Very little in the natural world could stand against a determined Viking, and though Fishlegs was a far cry from Stoick and Gobber, he was still a mountain of a man. The roots and bramble knots which constantly grasped at Astrid's feet gave way easily to his thick leather boots. Bushes and branches snapped and crunched around him as he tromped easily through the thick vegetation. Behind him he left a wide swath of destruction, and Astrid had found it easiest to simply move in his wake. She had not been this far into the forest in a long time.

"I hear you went to Stoick." He called over his shoulder.

"Yeah. I was hoping to take a look in Hiccup's room. I wanted to see if he had any more sketches."

"And did he?"

She shook her head, then realized that she was behind him, and he would not have seen the gesture. "No. The Chief wouldn't let me up there."

"That's a disappointment, but I can understand his feelings. Don't worry though, this'll solve everything!"

"You still haven't told me where we're going, Fishlegs…"

"We're near Raven's Point." The man called over his shoulder. "At first I was looking into the sketches, like you, and that got me nowhere."

"So?"

"So…" he turned back. "I sat down and thought instead. Do you remember the last raid of the season before he disappeared? He knocked over one of the search lamps."

Astrid's brows knitted vague images flashed through her mind; sitting on a water barrel, watching an entire disappointed village at it gathered in a circle around a short, spindly shape, but she couldn't tell one raid from the next; they all seemed to end that way, as she recalled. "He did that kind of thing all the time, Fishlegs."

"True." The man admitted, "But he said he hit a Night Fury."

She gawked. "I don't remember _that_."

"Well he said it." Fishlegs paused at the top of the shallow hill they had been climbing. The man turned, his eyes aglow with excitement, "I remember not believing him."

"How could anyone?"

"But he said it went down just off Raven Point."

Astrid stared. "…Which is where you brought me. He actually _hit _one?"

Positively quivering, he nodded and motioned her forward. She clambered up after him and they both stared. Heading southeast off the ocean, was a straight line of broken tree trunks. A trough had been dug into the ground where something heavy had landed and slid for a dozen yards. It was overgrown with bushes, but the narrow depression could still be seen.

"That he hit one was obvious from the start." Fishlegs said quietly as they both took in the sight. His breath condensed in the air as he spoke. "I knew that the moment I saw that drawing in the Book of Dragons. The questions were 'where did it land?', and more importantly, 'what did he do with it?'."

Astrid slid down the steep bank, following the trail. Fishlegs did as well, and they trudged along the trench, their footfalls loud against the frosty soil. The sun had not yet touched this part of the forest, and hoarfrost still clung to the low branches. As they walked, beasts scrambled and slithered away through the undergrowth.

The trench led them straight to what could only be described as a cove. A crater or sinkhole perhaps, which had grown in leaving a wide cylindrical area with sheer rock walls and a relatively flat area. A narrow creek led into a deep, calming pool of water at the center of the cove. It was filled with flickering silver trout. On one side was a grassy knoll, overgrown with weeds and tall, wispy grasses. On the other was split between a moss bed, and a sandy bank, an accumulation of rough silk which had clearly built up when the underground creek was much larger and moved far faster. Footprints wound back and forth across it, and Astrid immediately recognized them as Fishlegs'. A tree was growing in the far corner. A few fallen boulders dotted the edges of the bowl. Astrid stood at the edge of the cliff face, taking in the picturesque refuge.

"How do you know the dragon landed here?" She asked.

Fishlegs directed her attention to a variety of long, deep scratches all over the rim of the cove. They were unmistakably made by dragon claws. "He trapped it here for a time, I think." He said.

"Is there a way in?"

"I found a way in over here." Fishlegs moved along the edge of the cove. He led her to the narrow gulley out of which the creek continued its journey to the ocean. They clambered through an even narrower break in the rock face and down into the cove itself. Fishlegs encountered a little trouble with the tightest passages, but he managed to hold his gut in enough to struggle through. Astrid was leading at that point, and found her progress suddenly blocked by an old, rotten shield which had been wedged at chest-height between two boulders.

Clear evidence of Hiccup's visitations. It was a child's shield, and the pattern on the front had faded to the point of indecipherability. She ran her fingers along the rusted metal band which wrapped around the outside of the shield, and gripped the rotted, chewed leather strap at the center, a place in this wilderness where she knew for certain Hiccup's fingers had touched.

"There's more past it." Fishlegs said. She carefully vaulted over it. Fishlegs followed suit gingerly, afraid to touch the object. They tramped along the bank of the pool until they came to a fishnet, also old and rotted yet still very recognizable.

And there was more. A circle of stones denoted an old firepit, and when Astrid dug it up, she found old charcoals. A board had been placed across a few small boulders to form a table, with a stump as a chair. A hammer was found lying under the makeshift desk, along with a few nails.

However the largest evidence of Hiccup's activities was piled behind a few boulders under an overhang at the circular wall of the cove.

Long swaths of leather which had clearly been snacked on by rodents of some sort. Astrid recognized metal pins and rivets and lines of rope. There were iron arches and a series of wooden and metal handles. The constructions looked almost like…

"Saddles." Fishlegs said, approaching her from behind.

"Saddles?" Astrid asked skeptically. "How exactly would he have gotten a horse down here Fishlegs?"

He gawked at her, and then shut his mouth abruptly, biting back a comment. "Think it through, Astrid. He wasn't interested in riding horses."

"Then what? Then… the –_ the dragon?!_" Astrid started to laugh. It was dark humor. It really was. But… Gods! "Fishlegs, listen to yourself! The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself… let a twig of a Viking put a saddle on it? _Are you serious?_"

The man was scowling. "It's not funny, Astrid! I think he tried to ride it!"

"Tried? Sure." She sniggered. "For all of the three seconds it took the beast to turn around and bite his idiot head off."

"He was feeding it fish! Look at the net!"

"He was feeding himself fish."

"If it ate him, where are his bones?"

"I don't know. Have you searched for its dung pile?" she sneered.

He crossed his arms defiantly. "Hiccup is alive. He tamed a Night Fury and flew away on it."

"Fine." Astrid threw up her hands, shaking her head. "Let's say he did ride a dragon. Why would he just pick up everything and fly away?"

"Look at how we treated him." Fishlegs said quietly. "Wouldn't you?"

Astrid's arms sagged, and she felt a sudden weight on her shoulders. Everything else aside, _that _part was true. They both fell into silent contemplation. Years of laughter, contempt, derision and dismissal…

They had not treated him well enough. So badly, in fact, that he had actually _downed_ a_ Night Fury _and told exactly no one. No one would have believed him anyway, and he was clearly smart enough to recognize that.

But it still didn't explain the saddles…

"You can't ride dragons, Fishlegs."

"Has anyone ever tried, or did we just kill them? We haven't been attacked by a Night Fury since Hiccup took it down." Fishlegs gestured out at the cove. "Do you see it here now? If it could have gone back to their nest, it would have, and it would have come back and attacked us again. Where is it? And where is he?"

Sunlight was creeping down the edge of the cove, and Astrid noticed a drawing, done with black charcoal. It was on the cave surface above the saddles, doodled during a rainy day perhaps.

It depicted a wide, diamond-shaped face with two cat-like eyes and four horns, or ears perhaps, sticking out of the top. The face looked friendly, with wide eyes and a mouth which almost looked as though it were smiling. Even in that simple cave-drawing Hiccup had captured something. A certain innocence and gentleness.

_No one's ever tried before… _

But why would they? Every Viking was taught at birth that dragons were monsters straight from Hel's realm. They were the bogeymen in the closets, and the horrors beneath the beds. They were a threat to everyone's lives. Vicious, heartless, soulless killing machines. How could one be ridden?

With a saddle, obviously. Hiccup had already answered that.

The real question lay in her perceptions. How much had she taken for granted? How many fictions were assumed fact? It was a paradigm of thought. A way of life. That 'Us or Them' mentality which precluded any possibility of cooperation. Dragons were the enemy. They were to be given no quarter, and that was that.

Kill on Sight, as the Good Book said.

Or hide, if you were unfortunate enough to find yourself in the sights of a Night Fury.

Yet Hiccup… had managed to shed all that. He had taken generations of teachings and put them aside to wipe his own slate clean and approach the beasts as new.

Fishlegs was right. According to Viking teachings, the Night Fury would have eaten the boy and flown away to rejoin the other demons and attack again.

Yet there had been no attack since Hiccup's disappearance. Something was responsible for that. Was it possible? Could one tame a dragon?

Astrid tried to imagine the demons as beasts. Mere animals. Even the most vicious wolves had to eat and sleep and bear children. Yet Vikings had managed to breed working dogs. Silent Sven used sheepdogs to corral his flocks. Was the same true of Dragons? They had to eat, otherwise what was the point of stealing Berk's food? Perhaps they slept back at their nest, and laid eggs like reptiles… perhaps. If they were just beasts… if she could just for a moment strip away that demonic background which had informed her perceptions for so long…

She grunted in frustration and took a seat on the nearest boulder, glaring at the saddles. She frowned; there were saddles. More than one. A great many, in fact. Designed and redesigned. If Hiccup had been eaten, he wouldn't have been there to redesign anything. There would be no saddle. Or perhaps one, lying torn and bloodstained in the center of the cove. Not the half-dozen redesigns she was looking at, each one building on the previous; retaining its strengths and eliminating its mistakes.

Astrid sat and stared at the saddles, her gaze unfocussed as she forced herself to accept the new reality, fighting against her own preconceptions with the same ferocity she used to confront the demo- the beasts- the animals.

Hiccup Haddock was alive. After all this time, Hiccup Haddock was alive he was alive, and what's more, he had rode a dragon. More than that, a _Night Fury!_ She laughed at the incredulity of it, yet at the same time, she felt herself soar with pride at the accomplishment. A great feeling of relief engulfed her. It was promptly smothered by her guilt, which grew at an astounding rate. Hiccup Haddock was alive… and gone.

…and she had been among those who had driven him out of house and home.

Hiccup haddock had ignored six hundred years of chaos and slaughter. He had taken all of their notions of violence and war and set them aside to make his own judgments. Well… if any of them ever could have done it, put aside the entirety of Viking culture, it would have been the one who had never fit in to begin with.

She stared up at the sky, half expecting to hear the whistle, and see a black speck whizzing through the clouds. She wondered what they looked like from the top. How did the gods see Midgard? For just a fraction of a moment, she felt a hint, a light stab of jealousy.

"Astrid?" Fishlegs asked. He had taken a seat on an adjacent boulder, waiting patiently for her to reach the conclusion he had drawn the day before. The inevitable, life-altering, paradigm-changing conclusion. The conclusion which would inevitably lead to the breakdown of everything Berk thought it knew about the world.

"He did it didn't he?" she asked in quiet awe. "He tamed a Night Fury."

"It's why he got so good in the arena-"

"-He was learning from an actual dragon. It also explains why he refused to kill any of them." She shook her head, apprehension welling inside of her. The village might one day accept that the beasts could be flown, and that Hiccup Haddock had flown one. Yet once the idea was planted, Astrid knew they would have to rewrite everything they knew. People would start to ask how. They would experiment and try to ride. Everything would change.

And as for their Chief, Hiccup's father… Stoick the Vast was a Dragon Killer. The Pride of Berk. He had ended the lives of more beasts than any other. Every weapon he owned had spilled dragon blood. Even one of his spatulas, if the stories were true. Berk's Chieftain had spent his career building the villages' defense, and arming it against the beasts. His nights had been spent slaughtering, and his days repairing. They had eaten his wife, and until this very moment, it was believed they had eaten his child. His hatred of them was absolute, and absolutely beyond question. His authority was also beyond question, and to do so was an act of treason. Therefore riding dragons, seeing them as any/thing but demons was also an act of Treason. It wasn't a hard line of logic to follow, and its end conclusion was horrific; there would be a war. Berk would split in two.

"What are we going to tell the village?"

* * *

><p>With a vocal grunt, Brunhilda lifted up the washing basket and set it on one of the three large beds which took up so much room in the Hofferson hall. She enjoyed the mid-morning. It was one of the few moments when the house was actually empty. An opportunity she took with great enthusiasm. She could relax and think without interruptions from the sizeable family. She could finish the daily chores, and spend the afternoons cooking and relaxing with the younger children.<p>

She pulled a broom from behind the door and attacked the dirt on the floor with patient determination, cleaning all the nooks and crannies, all the while gently brushing the floorboards for splinters which so often caught in her grandchildren's bare feet at bedtime.

Behind her the door opened, letting in a cold wind which scattered the dust she had swept into a careful pile. She turned to the door, feeling slightly annoyed, but she put it aside as Astrid staggered through and collapsed backwards onto the nearest bed, her hood still up. The young woman let out a long breath as she stared up at the ceiling, her eyes glazed over.

"Astrid?"

"Mum?" she murmured, looking dazed.

"Astrid are you alright?" she took her eldest daughter's hand, examining the younger woman's troubled features, searching for some clue as to what she was thinking. It was to be expected that some children would seek privacy and solitude in a large cramped household. A few of the sons and cousins had moved out and started their own halls. The women took up various positions within the village, jobs and hobbies which gave them some time to themselves. Yet they all still had to come home every day and pile into a bed with up to six other people. With the exception of Brunhilda herself; she and her husband Hoark had their own bed, separated by a thin curtain.

Astrid had found her quiet time in the training arena, and in her own head. Her intensity was still there, but that fiery, passionate girl had grown into a taciturn, solemn young woman who smiled rarely, and almost never laughed at all. It was something Brunhilda regretted. She was proud of her daughter, and prouder still of the choice Astrid had made to take over teaching. It took real courage, after what happened to poor Sluglout.

Berk was in trouble. Everyone could sense it. The soil was giving smaller harvests, the beasts were frightened and sick, and after six hundred years of constant fighting, the dragon raids were finally taking their toll. Everything was in a state of disrepair. No new buildings had been put up in years, and the old ones sported more patchwork repairs than they did original materials. Stoick did what he could, but he was working with limited resources. If things didn't change drastically in a generation or two, the village would eventually fall to the dragon hordes. They would have to pack what they could and move further away. Perhaps they could find a new island, or settle with the Uglythugs or the Meatheads. Either way, Berk was in trouble. Brunhilda considered her daughter one of the few bright lights in an otherwise bleak future, and it was disheartening to see her looking so lost…

She took a seat on the bed beside her daughter, and picked up Astrid's hand, holding it gently in hers. "Astrid, what's happened? Everyone was looking for you this morning. You missed teaching." That was true. Several of the children had stopped in a few hours after she should have been in class. Whatever the reason for Fishlegs' strange pre-dawn summons, they had interfered with Astrid's regular schedule and left her in a sorry state.

The young woman groaned and drove her palms into her eyes.

"What were you doing out with Fishlegs? You know he's married, right?"

"Mum!" Astrid glared at her.

"There could be talk, Astrid." Brunhilda said, not backing down. "What in Midgard were the two of you up to?"

"It's complicated." Astrid said shortly. She rolled onto her side away from her mother, staring at the opposite wall.

Intrigued, but upset by this abrupt dismissal, Brunhilda leaned over and rubbed Astrid's back in wide, comforting circles.

"I don't know what to do, mum…" she heard Astrid murmur quietly. "I have a secret, and it might help Berk… but it could also hurt us really badly."

"Can you tell me what it is, dear one?"

"I don't know. I need to think. I don't know what to do… I need to think."

Brunhilda sighed. She was going to have to do some investigating of her own. What kind of information could put Astrid in such a state? She leaned down and kissed her daughter's temple. "Do whatever you think is right, Astrid."

"And what is that?"

"Whatever helps the most people I suppose… Let me make you some honeyed water."

Astrid gathered the fur comforter around herself and let her eyes slide shut. "Thanks mum."

* * *

><p><strong>I wanted to add a slightly tenderer scene. I intend for Astrid's mother to play a larger role in this fic, especially when Hiccup gets back to Berk. The name Brunhilda, as well as some aspects of her character were taken with permission from Midoriko-Sama's Becoming trilogy. <strong>

**A reader asked why Hiccup speaks Danish. I'm going to put up a rather pitiful defense of my choice in *calling* it Danish. Yes the language he is speaking is technically Old East Norse (one of three Old Norse dialects), but to others, the Vikings back then were known as Danes. When they took to raiding and piracy, the Danes went Viking. 'Viking' is not a language, nor a people. It is not a noun, it is a verb meaning to raid. Vikings were pirates. One cannot speak Pirate. (Well alright… Ye can, matey! And yarrr, how awesome it be! But still… technically not a language.) **

**From the perspectives of the people around him, Hiccup is not a Viking, he is a Dane. One could argue that he's one of the Norsemen, but that's just a fancy way of saying 'north men'.**

**From his perspective, he might call it Norse, and indeed the different dialects were indistinguishable to the point of being the same (Scandinavian languages still are). But I thought that characters like Yanick would call it and think of it as Danish, since it's spoken by Danes. Especially when he might not know that much about Hiccup's society and culture. I was just trying to maintain internal consistency. Not sure I managed, but… **

**I should just make everyone in this story speak pirate. How awesome would that be? Yarr! Avast me hearties! Walk the plank!**

**Next chapter expect a new character which will direct Hiccup's actions for the rest of this story.**

**As always, thoughts, comments, and criticisms are always appreciated. **


	10. Chapter 10

Prodigal Son 10

Late in the afternoon, Hiccup and Shahira were touring the Agora. Soapboxes had been placed every few yards, each one supporting a speaker. The lecturers ranged in tone from religious piety to deranged ranting. They stood in the hot sun, waving their arms and shrieking to the heavens whatever inane idea happened to pass through their brains. Each one had a crowd of devoted listeners, whether seeking entertainment or enlightenment.

"So… these free lectures…" he grinned at her, "is it going to be one of those guys?"

Shahira giggled. "No!"

"How about him?" Hiccup pointed at a tall, frazzled lunatic who was pressing his hands into a box of hot coals, and screaming up at his god to save him.

"Take a guess!"

"Alright." Hiccup said slyly, eyeing his options, "Well if it's not him, it's definitely that guy!" he pointed at another idiot who was embroiled in a heated philosophical debate with a sheep he had tethered to his soapbox.

"Shut. Up. It's none of these loons!"

"What, you don't want to seek eternal enlightenment through snake venom and hashish?" They stood aside as a guard cart trundled past, filled with prisoner peeking out through iron bars.

"That is not what hashish does."

"Oh you know, do you?"

"I've… experimented. On occasion."

"Little Miss Debauchery."

"Quiet, you. And don't tell my dad."

"I won't…" he grinned. "For a price."

Shahira whirled around, her expression caught between bemusement and outrage. "What price, exactly?"

"A bucket of fish."

Her jaw dropped, and she began to laugh. "Wow. I totally thought you were going somewhere else with that. What is it with you and fish?"

Hiccup rubbed the back of his neck. "I uh… have a debt to pay. Let's leave it at that."

She gave him an incredulous, searching look, and then shook her head. "Alright, mystery man." She led him down an alleyway to a rather unremarkable wooden door, set in an arched sandstone wall. On the other side, he could hear a woman's voice speaking loudly though he couldn't make out the words.

Shahira flashed him a brilliant smile as she opened the door. "You're going to love this!"

The room inside was a small U-shaped amphitheatre several rows high. Light streamed in from lattice windows high above their heads, illuminating the sand-covered floor. At the centre of the oval room was a low stone table with several objects including a cone which had been sliced into very careful sections, and a strange device which looked rather like a tree, with each of the six thin branches ending in a small sphere, and a larger orb atop the central spire. Several of the smaller orbs had their own small branch with its own sphere. It was one of the stranger contraptions Hiccup had seen in his travels, and he wondered what on earth it was.

The room was populated. Two-dozen inquisitive faces had turned towards the open door, examining the classroom's visitors. Young people from every walk of life were seated on the semi-circle of benches. An older woman, perhaps in her fourth decade, was standing behind the table. Her hair was tied in an elegant knot atop her head, and she was wearing the silk robes and jewellery of a noblewoman. However her most striking feature was her welcoming smile. "Shahira! Welcome back! How was your fishing expedition?" her voice was sharp, and surprisingly clear. Her accent and clear elocution betrayed a classical education.

"We ran into some trouble, thanks Ma'am." The young woman said. "But father and I made it out."

"No damage, I hope." The noblewoman replied.

"Broken rigging which this man fixed." Shahira said. To Hiccup's amazement, she produced one of his pulleys and tossed it across the room. The noblewoman caught it with an unerring hand and held it up, examining his workmanship.

"How did you…?" Hiccup hissed.

Shahira shrugged. "Quick fingers."

The Noblewoman gave his creation and experimental spin, watching the bearings as they turned in their housing. "What is this?"

"A new type of pulley." Hiccup supplied nervously. "I put a set of wheels in it to reduce friction and help deal with load distribution. That way next time Shahira gets caught by pirates, her pulleys won't jam, and her rigging won't snap." He rubbed the back of his neck. "They asked me to just repair the pulleys, but I wanted to do better. It was just a thought…"

The woman raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "My pupils and I discussed the mechanical attributes of circles not two weeks ago" she addressed the seated crowd. "Is that not correct?"

"Yes Artemisia." Her students replied dutifully.

She handed the pulley to her nearest student, and it was passed around the classroom. "Take careful note! What you're witnessing is the principles of geometry and natural philosophy applied on a practical level to improve and perhaps save lives, as it did your classmate, Miss Pandev. This is why we learn. Tonight I want you all to go home, find a problem like this man did, and a solution for it. When we next convene you will present your findings to your fellow students."

She looked up at Hiccup. "And you. Who taught you?"

"No one." He said awkwardly. "I just kinda… you know… well I mean I work in a forge, but I haven't been…taught…really. I just thought of it. Sorry."

"Sorry?" the teacher raised an eyebrow. "Never be sorry for a new idea! It's something to be proud of! What is your name?"

Despite his elation that someone so heartily approved of one of his insane ideas, Hiccup gritted his teeth. He'd been dreading this part. "Hiccup Haddock."

Sure enough, a few of the students tittered, but the teacher herself did not bat an eye. "You're not from around here. Why did you come to this city, Hiccup?"

"Because I… want to learn about the world." He answered. It was as honest an answer as he had ever given. "Maybe… find my place in it." It wasn't why he left Berk, but when he'd landed atop the Pharos Lighthouse, he'd sensed something in the sprawling coastal city. He was at the heart of civilisation,, and as far from Berk's stubbornness as he could get. It was a place of fluidity. A place of change. A place of learning.

Artemisia nodded understandingly. "In the local languages, this city is called Eskendereyya. Or Iskenderun. But when I was young, I learned of it as Alexandria. Founded by Alexander the Great, student of the philosopher Aristotle, and conqueror of the known world. He built this city to house the greatest, and most inquisitive minds in his empire, and he gave us the Great Library to house, protect, and build upon all human knowledge. This city was built for the research, investigation, and application of natural philosophy." Artemisia spread her arms. "To someone with your ingenuity, there is only one thing I can say: Alexandria was built for you. Welcome home. Have a seat."

Feeling slightly overwhelmed, Hiccup glanced at Shahira, but she had already plopped herself down on one of the benches. She gave him an encouraging smile and shuffled over to make room for him. A few of the students gave him nods and smiles, and he settled down beside her.

Artemisia stepped forward. "I have two rules in my classroom, Hiccup. One: Keep an Open Mind, and two: Make an Effort. My lessons are of no use to the lazy, or the wilfully ignorant."

"I will." Hiccup promised.

Satisfied, she addressed the class at large, "Today we're going to be discussing the world. Its size and shape, specifically. What shape is the world?"

"Flat." One dark-haired student piped up immediately. "The Bible says so."

"Does it, Linus?" Artemisia asked, bemused. "And on whose authority does it make such a claim?"

Her student gawked at her. "God's authority. He built it."

"Did he now? Alright." The teacher rubbed her chin. "If the earth is flat and the sun, moon and stars circle it, then does it stand to reason that the night sky is the same anywhere upon it?"

"It does." Linus agreed carefully, edging his way forward in the manner of an animal caught in a field full of bear traps.

Artemisia smiled. "Has anyone here done extensive traveling?"

"Hiccup has." Shahira said immediately.

"Thanks." He mumbled as all eyes turned to him.

"How far, Hiccup?" the Teacher asked.

"Scandinavia to here, and a lot in between…" he told them. A murmur passed through the crowd. It was an enormous distance even the most avid travellers in the area rarely left the shores of the Mediterranean. He was receiving even more curious looks than he had been before.

Artemisia, however, looked unfazed. "And in your travels, did you at all happen to observe the stars?"

Hiccup nodded. He and Toothless had travelled by night, especially in the more densely populated areas. The night sky and its mysteries were a sight he was all too familiar with. He addressed Linus. The young man was glaring at him, his lips forming a very thin white line as he kept himself restrained.

Hiccup said, "They change. Sometimes you'll look up and you'll realize there are new ones up in the south, and the ones in the north have vanished. Some change location, or they're upside down." He frowned. "None of the constellations seem to get any smaller though. You'd think they would if you were getting further away from them…"

"So they would… unless they were of immense size, and a fair distance away. After all, mountains often do not appear to change in size unless an extraordinary expedition is undertaken." She addressed the class at large. "But there is more evidence which contradicts the commoners' flat-earth theory: no matter the vantage point, the shadow of the earth during a solar eclipse is always circular. This fact has been recorded by Astrologists throughout the civilised world."

"But the earth is flat and round. During an eclipse, the sun is below the earth, and the moon above." Linus argued. "That the shadow appears round makes sense."

"Yet when an eclipse occurs nears the horizon, at dawn or dusk, would it not appear elliptical?" Artemisia asked. "Flat cylinders make all manner of shapes, Linus. A perfect sphere makes only one."

"Then why do we not fall from the sides if it is a sphere?" Linus argued, "Why do we not slide away?"

"If it is large enough, a curved surface could act as a flat one for all intents and purposes." Another student piped up.

Hiccup raised a hesitant hand.

Artemisia pointed to him. "Yes?"

"Whether it's flat or not, all objects seek the ground, right?" He asked. "We know that. Whatever the Gods did to make that happen, whatever they put underneath the world, could they not put that inside a sphere and have us walk around the outside of it?" It was an intriguing thought, and one which excited him more and more. He could fly all around the world. He could start at Eskendereyya, fly all the way past Berk, and end up in southern Egypt! How insane was the universe? And what of Yggdrasil, the world tree? Did the earth hang from it like a fruit? Hiccup had always thought that the realm of Midgard was supported by its branches, but perhaps it hung instead.

Perhaps the stem of the world wasn't too far from Berk- he shut his eyes, pushing the island from his thoughts.

Artemisia was in a discussion with Linus. "One of the rules of natural philosophy: Nothing should be viewed as infallible. Not even the bible."

"Well then the round-earthers you're quoting might well be." Linus argued.

"Perhaps." Artemisia agreed, "But observation supports their position more than God's. How you choose to account for this discrepancy is entirely up to you, but in this classroom, observable facts matter more than rhetoric. The fact is that not only has it been proven that the earth is round, but we actually know how big it is." This pronouncement was greeted with silence. Even Linus had gone quiet. It was a lofty declaration, to know exactly how large the world was. It was… knowing the limits of the Gods' powers.

"Is that right?" a sceptical student asked.

Artemisia nodded. "The circumference of the earth is forty thousand kilometres. Its diameter is about thirteen thousand kilometres. I ask you all, how is this possible? How can we know this?"

"You had someone pace it?"

The classroom rang with laughter. Hiccup and Shahira both joined in.

"Try again." Artemisia challenged.

Silence grew as everyone paused to consider an answer.

"Geometry." One young woman suggested.

"Geometry." Artemisia agreed, smiling. "Mathematics is the language of the gods, and with due respect to Linus here, the rules of geometry are their laws." From behind the table, the teacher pulled out a walking stick. She began to pace the length of the amphitheatre, and as she walked, she spoke. "Any human can kill, against the wishes of Gods. We can steal, we can threaten, and we can break all of our oaths…" She stopped and traced out a near-perfect circle in the sandy floor of the amphitheatre, "But on a flat plane, a triangle whose angles add up to anything other than one hundred and eighty degrees is impossible. A sphere cannot cast a shadow other than a circle. The whole is greater than the part. Things that are equal to the same thing are equal to one another. Any line drawn in a direct path from one point to another will always be straight. Euclid, Pythagoras, Aristotle, Archimedes-" she planted her staff in the ground at the centre of the circle, "-Through their studies of mathematics, these men conversed with God. As did another named Eratosthenes. He was the head librarian of Alexandria and it is _he_ who calculated the size of the earth."

"That doesn't answer how." One red-haired student said impatiently.

"Alexius, I am getting there. I promise." Artemisia replied. The student named Alexius saw back and crossed his arms. He grew red-faced as he was serenaded by his chuckling classmates.

Artemisia addressed the class. "As I have said many times before, Knowledge, when acquired through the application of the principles of natural philosophy, is a pyramid. Eratosthenes paid great heed to the Philosophers who came before him, and the observations of Astrologists. He took particular note of a report from the city of Cyrene. A well has been dug there, the bottom of which lies in darkness every day of the year with the exception of noon on the summer solstice, during which time the sun is directly overhead, and light strikes its waters."

Artemisia added a line to the circle she had drawn, leading from its edge a few inches towards its centre, obviously representing the well at Cyrene.

"This is important, because here in Alexandria, at noon of the summer solstice, the bottoms of our wells are in shadow. Yet an hour later, they are alight and the well of Cyrene is in darkness." She added a second line, representing the well at Eskendereyya.

"The sun had moved position in the sky." Linus said. "That is not proof of a spherical Earth! When a candle is moved across a flat table, the shadows of objects on that table change."

"True. But the candle is close to the table. The sun is not close to the earth. Archimedes reckoned the distance between us and the sun to be ten thousand times the earth's radius. Aristarchus of Samos reckoned it to be twice that. By Eratosthenes calculations it is one hundred and fifty million kilometres away."

"That's insane!" Hiccup blurted out, unable to contain himself. Linus looked relieved at finally having found an ally.

Artemisia didn't miss a beat. "It is geometry, Master Haddock. It is calculated with mathematics, the language of Gods."

"But… after a few meters we can't feel the heat of a candle. From a few blocks away, one can barely see its light." Hiccup argued. "Yet the heat and light of the sun is still felt here. How can it be so far away?"

"Distance and size alone should not be impressive." the teacher smirked. "But yes. The sun is an extraordinary thing! How bright it must be up close! Enough to instantly blind us! And how hot it must feel! A heat beyond reason or imagination! I wonder how large it is. After all, while we may lose sight of a candle, the great furnace of our city's lighthouse can be seen several kilometres into the open sea. The torches and candles of this city are collectively bright enough to wipe the stars from the skies. Is the Sun perhaps as large as a city? As concentrated a light as Pharos' furnace? If it is such a beacon, I wonder who stokes its fire."

"The gods." Alexius said. There was a murmur of agreement.

"Regardless, Eratosthenes drew these same lines that I have on the floor. He connected them at the circle's centre-" as she did "-And that gave him an angle which he used a sundial and basic rules of geometry to find. That angle turned out to be one fiftieth of a circle's circumference. From various surveying trips between Cyrene and Alexandria, he already knew length of the curve between his two cities. From here the steps to calculate the earth's circumference were all too easy. Easy enough, in fact, that we're going to calculate them again today."

She crossed back behind her table and produced handfuls of chalk tablets and abacuses, which were handed out amongst the class. Charts full of surveyor data were laid upon the table alongside diagrams which showed the same sundial reading Eratosthenes had taken.

Artemisia continued speaking as the various devices were handed out. She said, "No conclusion in Natural Philosophy should be taken as fact unless it can be proven and reproven repeatedly by anyone who wishes to do so. Faith can teach you many things, but here in this classroom, we deal with what we can observe and understand with our own eyes."

Hours had gone by. Hiccup had followed the math as best he could. Early in life he had learned Sums, as his father called them. Basic arithmetic. Enough to calculate what food they would need to survive Berk's harsh winters. If it took five pounds of wheat to make a small loaf of bread, how many people could seven hundred pounds feed? If it took a family of five two days to eat a loaf, how long would those seven hundred pounds last? Basic, practical calculations needed every day to see that the town's stores were full, and its citizens satisfied.

Yet this Geometry was something different. As Artemisia said, it was divining the rules of the gods. These perfect shapes; lines, circles, triangles, and squares… the way they interacted with one another opened the universe to him! Artemisia had taken him aside for a small private lesson on Trigonometry, or the calculation of angles. Hiccup was proud to say that within minutes he was able to re-join the class. He even lent Shahira a hand as she was struggling with the angle calculations.

All too quickly the lesson ended, and the class filed out, each student wishing their teacher a fond farewell. Lessons took place three times a week, at midday. Hiccup found himself planning ways to escape the forge so that he could attend.

Midgard was but one world on the branches of Yggdrasil. Its magic and laws ruled what happened upon and between each realm. But being able to calculate and extrapolate and predict facts of the natural world with certainty… the possibilities it opened up were vast. Even if it had all been caused by magic, and was perhaps held together by it, how much of the world, and human suffering therein could be explained with Natural Philosophy? How much which before had been attributed simply to the will of the gods, could now be explained and understood as a natural occurrence? If everything in reality could be predicted with Mathematics, then perhaps what was before left to chance could be predicted and planned for. Things such as illness and death had always been explained away by demons, curses, and the whims of higher beings. Was there, like the strange observations which had caused philosophers to question the shape of the planet, some other explanation? Natural disasters, the tides, the migrations of animals, the movements of the planets... Why did the sun rise? Why was the sky blue? What were rainbows, and how were they caused?

The thought that these and other questions might have explainable answers was a way of thinking which gave him a feeling of power over, and synchronicity with what Artemisia would have termed 'The Observable World'. After eight years of traveling, he had finally found a place and a purpose: learn. Learn for the sake of understanding the world. Learn because the Truth was something important, even if it did contradict religious and cultural preconceptions.

But he already knew that. It was why he had put a saddle on Toothless instead of killing him. It was why he had left – No! Don't think about it. In that direction lay only bitterness and guilt. He was here now. He was in Alexandria among some of the greatest minds in the world. He was here to learn!

He and Shahira attached themselves to the end of a short line of students which had gathered in front of Artemisia's table. Alexius the skeptic was among them. He was having trouble sorting out an error in his calculations. Within seconds Artemisia had spotted it. She pointed it out to him and, after a few encouraging words, sent him on his way.

A young woman followed, with a question pertaining to a previous class which Hiccup had not attended.

After that came Linus, and he looked quite angry.

"Artemisia!"

"Hello Linus." She said in a bored voice. "Are we going to do this yet again?"

"What you've said in this lesson was blasphemy."

Hiccup raised his eyebrows, surprised at the bluntness of the statement. Artemisia looked considerably less shaken. "As it appears to be with every lesson you attend. And a blasphemy according to whom?"

"My Pastor. He said that disturbers are to be rebuked, objectors confuted, the treacherous guarded against, the contentious restrained, the haughty repressed, litigants pacified, and the evil dealt with." He crossed his arms triumphantly.

"-the unskilled taught, the lazy aroused, the poor relieved, the oppressed liberated, the good approved, the depressed encouraged, the infirm supported, the unskilled taught and all are to be loved." Artemisia finished the quote. Linus gave her a stunned look, and she chuckled. "I have read Saint Augustine's teachings, Linus. If you're going to quote philosophers word for word, then use the entire quote and appreciate all aspects of it. His teachings were not a buffet from which one can pick and choose. And I don't disagree with all he had to say. But I want you to ask questions and think for yourself. The library of Alexandria has seven hundred thousand volumes. Scrolls with writing on every subject imaginable. It is unlikely that any one book possesses the answers to all of our questions. Widen your mind."

"My pastor says we must not fall prey to the mad teachings of witches!"

"Has he met many, then?" Hiccup asked, feeling considerable indignation on Artemisia's behalf.

Linus fixed him with a withering glare. He then turned his attention back to Artemisia. "What you say is impossible! It contradicts the Bible, and the Bible is God's word! You cannot argue with God! He is all-powerful!"

Artemisia pinched the bridge of her nose. She said, "Linus, in my experience one can argue with anything man imagines. In another three hundred years, your god may be a forgotten relic as so many gods have come and gone before him. At one age, the Roman gods were thought supreme. Before them, the Greeks and the Egyptian's. But during all that time, the square of the hypotenuse was equal to the squares of the other two sides. So it shall continue to be long after all our names are gone from the history books because that is something which is truly outside Man's control."

"How dare you!"

"If your god disagrees with me, let him come down from the sky and strike me dead himself." Artemisia said shortly. "In the meantime I have plenty to do, Linus. I suggest you go back to your church. Clearly nothing taught here will satisfy you."

His jaw jutting out defiantly, Linus turned on his heel and stomped out the door.

Hiccup was amazed. "You'd argue with gods?" he asked as the door closed.

"I would argue with people." The teacher replied calmly. "In my experience the gods keep themselves to themselves. I have no problem with belief in a deity, but to believe all of a religion's teachings instead of what you can see with your own two eyes, instead of what is proven through logic and mathematics and experimental methods of inquiry which produce repeatable results… Is to paint oneself a fool. It is the opposite of critical, rational thought and that is something I cannot abide. Not in my own students…"

"But there must be Gods." Hiccup reasoned. "How else would the world come to be?"

"I'm sure there are."

He took a moment to examine the curiosities which had been laid out on her desk. The strange cone was first. It was beautiful, dark wood object. It had been sliced four times at four different angles.

Artemisia gently pulled the model to pieces for him. The top came off first to reveal a circle, then a section sliced diagonally to create an ellipse. Two more slices revealed a parabola and hyperbola in sequence. Hiccup found himself curious about each shape. What were their relevant equations? How could he use them in a practical, effective way?

"Conical sections." Artemisia said. "Each cut is on a different plane, and reveals a different shape. Apollonius of Perga wrote eight volumes on conical sections. They are an informative read, if a little dry."

He smiled at her, and she smiled back, "I'm glad you're here, Master Haddock. You have a brilliant mind, and I'm looking forward to seeing you put it to use."

"About that…" He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I'm an apprentice blacksmith with Yanick Erwan. I'm needed at his forge every afternoon."

The teacher was already pulling out a scroll. She unrolled it to reveal a very important-looking government document. She signed and dated a line at the bottom, then rolled it up and handed it to Hiccup. She repeated the process on a second one which she gave to Shahira. "An application for financial compensation for your reduced hours of labour. All he has to do is take it to the treasury. Hiccup, it takes most pupils a few devoted lessons to understand Trigonometric calculations. You learned in minutes. You belong in this classroom. Don't let him pressure you into thinking otherwise."

Hiccup stared down at the document, feeling stunned. "You'd just volunteer money? Just like that?"

Artemisia laughed. "Master Haddock, I told you this city was built for Academics. Some of my students have travelled here all the way from Byzantium. Not all of them could afford it without scholarships. The Government has lots of money available to assist young minds. All you have to prove is that you're worth the cost." She held up his pulley and gave it a spin. "I think you've already done that."

"Thank you." He said numbly, feeling overwhelmed.

"No trouble." She said.

He found his eye wandering over to the strange, tree-like construction he had spotted when he'd first stepped through the classroom door. "What is that thing?"

"Aristarchus' heliocentric model." She answered. "There are some natural philosophers who believe that the earth isn't actually at the centre of the universe."

Hiccup frowned. "And you do?"

She shrugged. "It explains the retrograde motions of the planets just as well as Ptolemy's epicycles. But I keep this one around mostly just to make my students think and ask questions. The Christians claim it's blasphemous, of course. I think every god that was ever worshipped would probably disagree with the theory."

Hiccup kneeled to give the strange cosmic model a closer look. "And you're not afraid of angering them?"

"When I don't even know which one is in charge? Ha. No. Let them kill me, then I'll know whose religion is true and I'll find a way to report the results back for Humanity's benefit." She turned to face him. "And what about you? What do your gods say?"

But Hiccup was bent over, eye-level with his teacher's heliocentric model of the cosmos. He pointed at one of the orbiting spheres.

"That is Mercury," Said Artemisia, "Messenger of the Roman gods."

Hiccup shook his head. He reached out with a long, slender finger and gently pushed the sphere, watching it trace its path around the model. "It is Odin, the Wanderer. He has two ravens, Thought and Memory, which fly far and wide, watching everything and reporting back to him." the heliocentric model squeaked as Hiccup pushed it further, watching the spheres rotate around their central axis. He said, "Odin gave up an eye to sate his thirst for knowledge. He knew that was more than a fair trade."

"And what would you give up in return for knowledge, Hiccup Haddock? In return for a better understanding of the world?"

"I've already given up my home."

Shahira and Artemisia exchanged a glance which Hiccup failed to notice. He was enamored by the spinning model. "Odin carried Gungnir, a spear taken from the root of Yggdrasil, the world tree, and forged by the dwarves of Nidavellir. The laws which govern the nine worlds were etched on it."

Artemisia listened in patient silence. She said, "World tree?"

Hiccup gestured at the spindly model, with its long, slender stand leading up to the bunch of multiple arms at the top, each one carrying a planet. "Does this not look like a tree to you?"

The teacher raised an eyebrow, and then smiled at him. "It does. Would you like to learn one of the laws which Odin must have etched on that spear?"

He looked up at her, his eyes shining. His heart was pounding with excitement, and he couldn't help but grin back at her. "I want to learn them all."

Artemisia was suddenly alive with motion, feeding off of her student's enthusiasm. She swept across the sandy floor and retrieved her teaching staff. With it, she drew an enormous triangle which stretched across the floor of the empty classroom. "Then let us begin with Euclid and Pythagoras, Hiccup. I am going to teach you the laws of the natural world."

**I'm afraid there are going to be less marked footnotes this time around. This chapter took a while because I wanted to get it right. Let me know what you think.**

**On the subject of religion, and how it has been portrayed in this fic, the friction between devout believers and those who sought an understanding of the universe through the scientific method is an undeniable aspect of human history. I will not shy away from it.**

**Anyways my apologies for how boring this chapter may have been to you, but it was utterly crucial for setting up what happens later. I tried to make the teacher flamboyant enough and enthusiastic enough to be fun. All mathematical principles and laws quoted are real. All historical figures named are real (though Artemisia herself is not), and all of their accomplishments are real. Men knew the earth was round long before the Christian god ever came to be. Sadly this knowledge was lost and forgotten during the fall of the Roman Empire. It has since been re-proven, though Flat-Earthers still exist to this very day. Facts which today we take for granted, such as the spherical nature of our planet, were hotly debated topics during that time.**

**Several readers have asked about Hiccup's religious beliefs. It is true that Christianity was the dominant religion at the time this story takes place. It is true that many of the Vikings converted to Christianity. Some stayed, and some brought it back to Scandinavia with them. Scandinavia was eventually converted, but it took around 200 years before the actual beliefs themselves became accepted socially. We shouldn't discount the power of those old gods. Thor is still worshipped even today. It was not uncommon for Norse men and women to wear both the Hammer and the Cross. Even after the hammer was banned, it was still sold freely in many villages, and private worship was not frowned upon in these communities. Today the Icelandic nations are among the least religious on the planet, and many people are beginning to convert back to the original Pagan Norse culture.**

**Hiccup believes in the Norse gods for plenty of reasons, his Viking stubbornness being the main one. It also allows some distance between him the events around him as demonstrated in this chapter. It's an unusual perspective. But his beliefs are also going to be altered and changed by the lessons he learns. The Heliocentric model being a sort of metaphor for Yggdrasil is a good example of how I intend to work this angle. Ironically enough I think he'd have an easier time fitting Artemisia's strange ideas into the old mythology than he would if he had converted to Christianity.**

**On a side note, I cannot find any evidence which states directly that Vikings thought of Mercury as Odin, but in the pantheon of gods, Odin and Hermes share more characteristics than Odin did with Zeus. Hermes and Odin were both travelers who sought knowledge. Hiccup's identification of the Planet mercury as Odin is meant to showcase his slightly muddled religious views which have been altered by his travels as he fits his understanding of the larger world into what he knew before to be true. This should not be interpreted as a literal Norse belief. **

**On to Artemisia herself: She is based on Hypatia, though some of her theories in future chapters will have been stolen directly from Johannes Kepler. I've included her because I wanted a foil for Stoick, as Alexandria is meant to be a foil for Berk.**

**Hypatia was a prominent scholar, philosopher and teacher in ancient Alexandria. Kepler was a German Astrologer, and the man who mathematically explored and proved the elliptical movement of celestial bodies. Both of them worked from the Greek mathematicians, and it is from that common source material that I intend to draw Artemisia's teachings.**

**I understand that this story might start to piss off some of the more devout readers. The debate between the factual claims of religion and science has been going on for a long time, and is central to the stories of both Hypatia and Kepler.**

**Hypatia herself was a mathematician living in Alexandria about 400 years after the crucifixion of Jesus supposedly took place. She was a very intelligent woman, a student of the Greek philosophers, and a very influential figure in ancient Alexandria. Unfortunately she was also embroiled in the dirty politics of the time. A bishop named Cyril wanted her out of the way because she had been supporting his political opponent. He told his congregation that she was practicing witchcraft.**

**His congregation pulled Hypatia off the street and into the nearest church (which is still around today). Then they dropped her in front of the cross, beat her with roofing tiles until she was an inch from death, and then used clamshells to flay off her skin. Then they tore off her limbs and burned the remains. **

**Cyril eventually defeated his opponents and went on to be canonized –declared a Saint- by the Church. **

**I'd say his fate is somewhat undeserved. Yet it also serves to keep in mind that Hypatia was murdered because of politics, not religious belief. Her death signaled the end of Alexandria as a center for scientific investigation, and factual understanding of the world. She is often regarded as the last civilized light extinguished before the dark ages began. **

**The character of Artemisia is meant to be an echo of that ideal scholarly class of person.**

**There is nothing wrong with believing in God, but plenty of damage can be incurred when facts and critical thought are ignored. Hypatia's death is a perfect demonstration of how easy it is to manipulate people who don't ask questions. Spiritual belief should never be mistaken for, or allowed to evolve into blind Zealotry. I'm afraid this will be a theme explored in this section of the story, as it was an issue of the time. **

**If that makes you uncomfortable, best leave now.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Violence ahead. Extremely graphic violence. Dragons are enormous, fire breathing creatures, perfectly capable of killing in a number of utterly horrific ways. ****Again, I'm not one to shy away from things. People will hurt dragons in this story. Dragons will hurt people. People will hurt people. Dragons will hurt dragons, and none of it will be kid-friendly.**

**The next chapter is going to include a few ugly moments. If you are uncomfortable… then I suggest you find a story which is rated 'K', not 'T'. I'd rate it 'M', but I don't intend to put any sex in it. Violence in media, our society can deal with. Sex? Not so much.**

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><p>Prodigal Son 11<p>

It was the bells that woke her up, but Astrid knew immediately what was going on. The orange light flickering through her empty hall's open window was a clue, as were the incessant screams, the yelps and growls of barking dogs, and the furious cries of Berk's warriors. But the most telling clue was the acrid chemical smell which filled and burned her nostrils. Only one thing in the world made that smell: the flammable gel of a Monstrous Nightmare.

In less than a second, she was on her feet, retrieving her axe and marching towards the door. Her father's hunting bow, and a half-full quiver had been hung above it, which she slung over her shoulder. She tore the door open just in time to see gouts of Nightmare's liquid flame shoot from the windows of the Hrolfson hall. The building was aflame with such intense heat that she momentarily shielded her face. She could see nothing in the open windows beyond the roaring furnace, so like Gobber's forge at full heat. She felt her heart leap into her throat; there were over seventeen people in that family... how many of them had been in there?

Three blackened, burning, screaming people leapt out the door and through the windows, rolling on the ground as they tried to choke the flaming gel which coated their backs. Blinded, deafened, and in pain beyond the ability to scream, a tiny body shambled out of the flaming building, arms hanging loosely at its sides and burning from head to toe. That was little Sigerich Hrolfson, no more than seven winters old; one of Astrid's students. A Monstrous Nightmare had murdered one of her students…

The dragon itself, fully ablaze, was perched on the roof, blowing its liquid fire through a hole in the thatch, and watching the Viking family burn. As its youngest victim shambled out, charred nearly beyond recognition, it slithered down with its long neck and scooped the dying child up in its mouth. It took off, Hrolfson hall collapsing beneath it.

Everything she had learned the day before, what Hiccup had discovered; that Dragons were merely animals, things which could be reasoned with... it all flowed from her mind like water through a sieve. Putting her emotions in a box just as her uncle Finn had taught her, Astrid calmly notched an arrow, lead her target, and let fly. The small black arrow flitted into the broiling, smoke-filled sky and hit the Monstrous Nightmare in the wing joint, causing the beast to spasm and roar. The small body fell from its mouth and landed on the ground with a crunch which she also put out of her mind. The dragon went down just a few seconds later, demolishing a shed. It roared loudly. She hoped it was in pain, and there was plenty more she had to offer.

Astrid sprinted towards it, hefting her axe. The creature's long neck wound around and its slitted eyes narrowed as it found her - the source of its sudden pain. She knew what was coming, and she leapt, pushing sideways off a water barrel as its maw opened. An arc of the liquid gel zipped over her left shoulder, spattering a few droplets on her fur collar. The creature snapped at her as she flew towards it. Astrid swung her axe sideways, striking it across the teeth as its jaw snapped shut. Chunks of fang flew in all directions, and it screeched, drawing back in shock and pain.

She landed on her feet amongst the burning wooden planks which had previous held the Hrolfson family's farming tools. The dragon coiled around her as quickly as it could, but Astrid was slightly faster. She swung the axe down, sinking it deep into the monster's neck. It snapped backwards, sending her flying over its spiny, flaming body to land a few meters away. She rolled onto her back, fighting to get her bearings. The Nightmare twisted around and skittered after her furiously. Blackened smoke rose from the wounds as the dragon's flaming body vaporized the blood which was pouring out.

Her axe was embedded in its neck, but Astrid still had her father's bow. Lying flat on her back, with the Nightmare careening towards her, she notched another arrow. As the Nightmare, with its broken but still deadly fangs, snapped at her, she let loose. The projectile flew straight and true, entering its open jaws, ramming through the roof of its mouth, and ending its journey in the creature's brain.

The dragon flopped to the ground, its long neck twisting like the limb of a ragdoll. Its tail twitched a few times, but it was clearly dead, or wounded beyond its ability to further harm her village. Astrid got to her feet and dropped a few handfuls of dirt on her burning furs to choke the flames. She pried her axe from its muscly neck and began to hack at it until the head rolled and bounced down the hill towards Gobber's forge.

Astrid took a moment to survey the situation. Berk was in flames. Fire poured from several homes, and the night sky was black with towers of smoke. Viking warriors were clustered around the food stores and the entrance to the great hall, where those who couldn't fight were always sent during raids. The sky was rife with a dozen flitting shapes and the air was thick with smoke and death. Her mouth watering despite her disgust, Astrid wondered why the gods had made burning human flesh smell so much like roasting pork.

Outside the forge, Gobber and the Thorston twins (who always fought together) were facing off against a pair of Gronckles. On the hill near the Haddock hall, seven burly Vikings led by Snotlout were wrestling with another Nightmare, its flames extinguished. She could see the towering profile of Stoick the Vast as he crushed a Nadder's skull in with his mighty iron hammer.

Astrid charged down the hill towards the Gronckles, screaming at the top of her lungs. The plaza had some of the most tightly clustered homes around it, an easy target for angry dragons. And with their flailing tails, Gronckles were just as effective at damaging property and people as any Nightmare. Two of the buildings were already burning. Another one had been turned to splinters by one of the dragons' rear ends.

Hearing her approach, a Gronckle turned and coughed out a ball of molten rock, which tumbled towards her at high speed. Astrid dodged it easily enough, and she threw all of her momentum into an axe blow powerful enough to crack the Gronckle's skull. The creature groaned and stumbled sideways. Gobber took the opportunity to thrust a spear through its neck, putting the beast out of its misery. A few meters away, the twins were using their own spears to drive the second Gronckle back and away from the plaza. It took one look at its dead companion and took to the skies. An arrow from an unknown archer in one of the defense towers thumped into its side as it retreated.

Several seconds later a tangled, writhing, bloody mess landed near the forge. Astrid recognized it as a Zippleback, caught in a razorwire net. Flakes of blood, skin and scale landed all around as it panicked and writhed, cutting itself to pieces. Green gas began to fill the air around it, and was ignited repeatedly as it tried to burn the netting away. The twins immediately went after it, plunging their spears in again and again, stabbing it mercilessly, and celebrating in the carnage.

"Astrid!" Gobber huffed, grabbing her arm, "You're needed at the arena. A few of your young Bairns camped out there and Snorri saw a Zippleback headed their way."

Astrid didn't waste time thanking him. She rushed north towards the arena, dodging through a few alleyways. Recent memories came unbidden, and once again she watched the poor charred wreck of little Sigerich Hrolfson stumble its way out of his family's burning hall. She picked up speed, swearing on Thor's name that she would not let that happen to any more of her students.

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><p>Four hundred meters from the arena's bridge, Astrid found Snorri Sigurdrson, the warrior who had warned Gobber. He lay dead, propped against a tree, and festooned with Nadder spines, blue with green tips. His face beneath his beard was a pale, sickly colour; a sign of the Nadder poison having done its work. Astrid felt a pang of gratitude towards him for attempting to defend her students. Later she would have to thank his family, but at that moment, she was on the hunt. She picked up his shield and continued forwards, listening carefully for the chirping sound which Nadders made.<p>

She reached the bridge not a moment later. The arena had been built a little ways from the town, on a sea stack which sat close to the cliff's edge. A sheer drop on three sides, with a narrow open bridge leading back to the mainland. This was a security measure taken to ensure that, should a dragon escape the arena, it posed as little a threat to the town as possible. The braziers which lay every few meters down its length were out, cutting her visibility. But that wouldn't matter to a dragon; she was horribly, horribly exposed. Especially if that Nadder was still in the area.

On the far side, she could see the wide bulk of a Hideous Zippleback. It was perched on top of the cage, and both heads were inside the arena, presumably snapping at the children therein; Astrid could hear their frightened screams. She slung the shield over top of the bow across her back, hefted her axe, and charged across the bridge. She kept her eyes on the Zippleback, watching its rippling muscles and trying to keep her mind off of how easy it would be for any dragon to swoop past and knock her into the sharp rocks and churning ocean waves two hundred meters below.

She was half way across when she heard it: the chirping noise, followed by a half-dozen little whistling projectiles. Nadder spines peppered the stones around her as she ran. A few thumped into the back of her shield, the force of each blow making her stumble. She thanked Thor that her time off was spent practicing all of those flips and jumps and free-running, as it allowed her to keep her balance when it was so utterly crucial.

She reached the Arena as the Nadder flew around for another pass. Astrid sprinted up the ramps on either side of the arena's entrance, and ran across the wide lattice frame, bounding from strut to rusted strut. Somewhere above her she could hear the chirping as the Nadder circled, but that didn't matter to her nearly as much as the fact that both the Zippleback's heads were hanging through the gaps in the metal cage, and getting closer and closer to chomping up one of the frightened children beneath. She drew her axe as she reached the Zippleback and brought it down on the one of the creature's necks, lopping its head off. The creature reacted immediately. The dragon's one remaining head withdrew and in a lopsided, ridiculous way. It flapped pathetically towards Berk's forests, crooning in agony as its stump bled out.

This was lost on Astrid, however, as the Nadder circling above her chose that moment to grab her shield in its claws and throw her bodily across the cage. She rolled down the latticework to land painfully near one of the chain winches which were used to open the dragon pen doors. She heard the sound of Nadder flames rapidly approaching, and rolled to the side, just in time to avoid a gout of flame, though it passed close enough to singe her entire left side, and she could smell her own burnt hair. The flames hit one of the winch's chains, and melted a few links. The chain sprang loose with a clang noise, kicking up sparks as it hit the rock.

Astrid caught sight of a blue and green tail pass over her head, its spines protruding in all directions. It banked quickly, and blew a few gouts of fire, corralling and herding her, driving her off the edge of the cliff. Thinking quickly, or perhaps not thinking at all, Astrid grabbed the loose chain, near the end of the spool, and leapt freely off the edge of the sea stack, Nadder fire passed over her head, coming close to hitting the chain, but not close enough to melt it; a fact she repeatedly thanked the Gods for when she thought back on the incident). She hung tightly onto the chain, bracing herself for the moment it would come to a sudden and jarring halt, which it did, pinching her fingers between the links. She managed to maintain her grip, thankfully. The Dragon passed overhead, appearing stunned at its prey's odd choice.

Hanging twenty meters down the sea stack, Astrid flung the shield away, letting fall into the distant, grasping waves. She wrapped the chain around her right forearm, strengthening her tenuous lifeline. She had no idea where her axe was, but at that moment, she was too gratefully alive to care. With her left hand, she unslung her father's hunting bow and retrieved an arrow from the quiver. She could hear the deadly Nadder chirping and squealing far above her head. A few poisonous spines flew out of the inky darkness above, but she kicked away from the cliff wall and let them pass by harmlessly. The Nadder was following close behind them.

Gripping her father's bow, and the chain with her right hand, she notched another arrow and crouched against the rocks, aiming straight up at the sky, and at the oncoming Nadder, which had chosen to dive bomb her. She kicked off a second time, to get into its blindspot. As it swerved to compensate, she was treated to its profile, and she let the arrow loose. It flew wide of its mark, but ripped straight through the yellowish underside one of the creature's leathery wings. Wounded, the demon decided that this particular prey was not worth the trouble. It leveled out and flew almost lazily out towards Raven Point.

Knowing that her father would tear a strip off her if she lost it, Astrid very carefully slung the bow across her chest. Then, hand over hand, she used the chain to walk herself up the side of the sea stack.

* * *

><p>As she winched up the heavy portcullis, Astrid felt a great sense of relief sweep through her. Her pupils, save little Sigerich Hrolfson, were all alive and well, and doing their part to help her lift the heavy gate. Eventually it was high enough to let her slip under, and she did so, feeling a lightness in her heart as the children gathered around her, wrapping their arms around each other in one giant group hug.<p>

The arena was a mess. Blast residue from the Zippleback attack coated a large area of the floor. Most of the wooden barriers had been smashed to pieces, as had the water barrels. The long zippleback neck, with its bulbous head and lifeless eyes was draped over a low portable oak wall. Astrid spotted her axe amongst the wreckage, and thanked Thor.

"Is everyone alright?"

"Yes, Miss Hofferson!" they echoed.

"What were you all doing here?" she asked.

"Waiting for you, Miss." A few of the children answered. Astrid felt guilt stab at her.

"Sigerich went back to the village!" Osmand reported. "He said he was getting hungry."

Two dozen frightened little faces peered up at her, searching for some reassurance. Astrid closed her eyes against that image of the little burning body tottering out of the furnace. She took a deep breath and said, "I'll go back and look for him. But the village isn't safe. I want you all to get into the Nightmare's pen. I'll close the door to make sure no dragons can get to you."

She considered it a sign of how well trained they were that the young children followed her instructions without a single complaint or hesitation. All it took as a promise that she would retrieve them in the morning. As she climbed up out of the pen and let down the massive iron girders which were built to keep dragons contained, she let herself feel a little relief. That stall was built to contain a Monstrous Nightmare. Locked behind its massive iron doors, those children were now about as safe as they could possibly get.

Astrid collected her axe, and headed back to the village, keeping a watchful eye on the skies.

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><p>The battle in Berk was still in full swing, though it looked as though the Vikings had finally gained an upper hand. It was safe enough at last that bucket chains were rapidly forming. Stoick stood at the center of the plaza, organizing the defense, and directing the wounded to the shelters.<p>

Astrid made to approach him, but was pulled into an alleyway by Fishlegs. "Astrid!" he said, sounding relieved. His furs were matted and wet; covered in blood, probably dragon's blood. There were chunks of scaly skin and skull embedded in his massive, dripping club.

"Fishlegs." She said quickly. "I've got to join the defense."

"Not so fast!" he hissed. "We have an opportunity here!"

They both ducked as a Gronckle swooped overhead and dropped a molten boulder through the roof of a nearby house. "Buildings are burning here, Fishlegs. An opportunity for what, exactly?"

He gave her a meaningful look and then pointed up at Haddock Hall, just visible between the buildings' profiles.

"Are you _kidding_ me?" she hissed angrily. She wanted to strike him, but knew he'd just shake it off.

"Stoick is distracted. The entire village is busy. Everyone thinks you're at the arena." He replied. I'd break in myself, but I can't climb. I have to go through the front door, and it's locked. I've tried already. If the lock's broken, he'll know!"

"It's treachery!" she snapped. "We could be exiled! Besides, don't we have better things to worry about right now than Hiccup's notes?"

He shook his head, "That building could go up in smoke during the next raid. Then we'd lose the chance forever. One warrior missing for a few minutes isn't going to make a difference to this battle, but what Hiccup knew could stop this entire war. Is that worth it to you?"

"Sigerich Hrolfson got burned to death by a Nightmare earlier!" She reported angrily, "And you want to make peace with the damned beasts? Hiccup was insane, Fishlegs!

"Kids will continue to get burned as long as Dragons continue to raid!" he replied in a measured, yet serious tone. "Someday perhaps it'll be my child. If you don't help me stop this insanity, then that'll be on your head."

They glared at each other.

"Fine." Astrid said shortly, gritting her teeth. "But if I get caught, if I go down, so do you."

"Of course." He said seriously. "We were always in it together, Astrid. I swear on Thor's Hammer."

Satisfied, she turned and slunk through the shadows towards Haddock Hall.

As she moved, she tried to ignore the dishonor of her actions. She was disobeying a direct order from the Chief of her tribe to go through the possessions of a boy who was… well he wasn't dead, but…

If she were caught, then to the village there was no way this would look good. She'd be exiled. Thrown out of the village at spear-point and sent on a raft, hopefully find her way to Outcast Island. She'd have to join the ranks of Alvin the Treacherous and his barbarian horde. Not a happy thought.

She was careful to stay in the shadows and out of sight as she made her way to the wall of the Haddock family home. Fishlegs was right; everyone was so busy either fighting dragons or putting out fires that no Viking ever came close to spotting her. She clambered up the side of the building and hoisted herself through the open window, to land on Hiccup's tiny bed. Outside, she could hear the roars of the beasts, and the sounds of struggling Vikings. Her guilt increased tenfold.

Whatever Fishlegs hoped to find, it had damned well better be worth it!

She took quick stock. She was crouched on Hiccup's bed. To her left in the corner was a chest. Directly in front of her was a thin reed wall, covered in drawings of all shapes and sizes. More designs and plans for all manner of devices there to help the island. A treasure trove to rival the sketches in Gobber's forge. Yet Astrid was struck by the largest of them; an almost perfect sketch of her fourteen-year-old self. She quirked a smile as she recalled that old skirt (now owned by one of her younger cousins), and the way she'd chosen to have her bangs always covering one eye. She had thought it looked good at the time. That was important for a warrior, right? Now she saw it for the tactically crippling error it was. It reduced depth perception which made bows difficult to shoot, and leaps more difficult to judge. Her skill in both had increased significantly when she had finally done her hair up in one thick braid down her back.

It was an excellent sketch, she felt. Her younger self was posed with her axe, gazing intensely through the paper. It captured a younger Astrid's ferocity, as yet untempered by the real experience she would gain later. It was some of that same unbridled intensity which had driven him away, and yet again the thought troubled her.

An intricate heart had been drawn around it, with the words 'The most beautiful girl in Midgard' written underneath.

There wasn't much else in the room. A few shelves with trinkets on them. But nothing that looked suspicious enough for her to investigate. She poked through his papers, but didn't find anything, and she knew in her gut that he would not have been so stupid as to leave his Night Fury notes in plain sight.

The only thing left was the chest. It was full of rather expensive-looking children's clothing and a few more trinkets. She reached the bare wooden bottom and stared down into its emptiness, her hopes dashed. She sat back on her haunches and sighed to herself, staring unblinkingly at the chest.

…But something was wrong; the floor of the chest was significantly higher than the floor of the room it sat in. She reached back in and knocked on the wooden bottom, producing a hollow noise.

A hidden compartment! Clever boy!

Excitement coursed through her veins as she gently pried the false wooden panel upwards. Her heart pounded in her chest as dozens of detailed sketches were revealed.

There was the Night Fury, looking playful; there was the Night Fury looking as fierce as young Astrid had always tried to be; there was a sketch of it looking utterly adorable, with big, round eyes, and its ears or horns or whatever they were perked up like a puppy or a kitten.

What became immediately apparent wasn't just Hiccup's skill as an artist, nor the amount of time he had spent with his dragon, but rather it was a determination to capture the creature's personality. To repaint it as a playful animal instead of the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself.

There was more. Other sketches were of the technical sort. It became immediately obvious that the Night Fury was missing a tailfin. That was obviously what had kept it grounded, and allowed Hiccup to train it. He had replaced the fin with a prosthetic. The mechanisms were there, planned and drawn in painstaking detail. Not only the fin itself, but the mechanisms by which Hiccup opened and closed it, and used it to pilot the beast.

So this was what he had been doing, all those afternoons he had raced away after Dragon Training! Great Odin's ghost… unbelievable! It was still so unbelievable! And how had they all missed it for eight years?

Because they never would have expected anything like it out of Hiccup the Useless, Hiccup the Screw-Up. Hiccup the Walking Disaster.

The greatest find was a small journal, bound crudely in reddening animal hide. In ink, written on the front in large letters were the words:

_How To Train Your Dragon by Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III_

Her mouth filling with bile, and her thoughts confused with doubt and guilt, she slipped the papers into her belt. She put everything back as close to the way she'd found it as she could recall, and made to creep back out the window. She paused for one more second to take the drawing of herself. It was too tempting to resist. Then she crept out the window of Haddock Hall, and rejoined the fight.

* * *

><p>It was drizzling the morning after. A thick wet mist hung in the air, and rain droplets pattered lightly all around Astrid as she stood outside her family's hall, staring across the wide dirt path<p>

The Hofferson's had all made it through another one, thank Thor. However of the seventeen Hrolfson clan members, only two remained alive. One of them had survived the Nightmare's burning gel, and was with the wounded. The other was little Sigerich Hrolfson's father Hundolfr, who had been on the other side of Berk at the time of the attack.

Yet he was at his home now, or the lot-sized, charred nest of kindling which was all that remained of it. One of the building's corners had survived the fire, though it was a chest-high section of wall now. Hundolfr was huddled against it, his son's tiny, blackened body clutched in his arms, charred to the point of unrecognizable. The helpless tears streaming down his cheeks betrayed the depths of his grief.

Astrid had not had an easy night. She had killed more dragons including another Gronkle, a Nadder she had taken down with Gobber's help, and several Terrible Terrors. After the Dragons finally relented she had discretely passed Hiccup's notes to Fishlegs, and curled up in the lee of a shed's overhang to catch a few blessed moments of sleep. But thoughts of tottering children, covered in flaming Nightmare gel troubled her dreams, and she found sleep elusive.

"Hundolfr…" she said hesitantly, "…Mister Hrolfson?"

The man's grip tightened on his son's body.

"Mister Hrolfson, I'm sorry…" she murmured, feeling the pre-dawn chill setting in. It was made worse by the moisture. "I'm so sorry… I was in my hall… if I'd gotten out thirty seconds sooner…"

"A' leas' ya killed the beast." He said tonelessly, staring at the muddy ground.

Astrid glanced at the headless corpse. "Yeah…"

Hundolfr Hrolfson rose to his feet. He set his son's body down at the center of his burnt home, and began searching the wreckage.

"I was buying chicken meat." He said, pulling up fallen beams "Sigerich said he was hungry, an' I was across town buying chicken meat." He found what he was looking for, and seized it. The metal in what could formerly have been called a mace had melted and hardened into an indefinable shape. Yet it was still heavy, and hard enough to weild.

"I just wanted to feed my family!" the man declared, slipping haphazardly across the mud towards the nightmare's corpse. "I just wanted to feed my goddamned family, and these… _these demons…_" he choked out the last words as he reached the dragon's corpse. With a sickly thwock, he brought the melted mace down against the dragon's motionless side. Ribs cracked and a small amount of blood seeped out of the new gash the former father had created. The melted implement fell again and again, slowly turning what was left of the corpse to mulch, and with each blow the wild-eyed father cursed the creatures in the name of a different god.

Astrid turned away and slowly trudged down the hill. The plaza was taken up by rows of bodies. Around four dozen, according to her estimate. Around half of those were from the Hrolfson hall alone. The rest were warriors.

The children had been freed from the arena, and she had put them to work cleaning the wreckage. Charred timber was being toted up to the cleared area which the town used for the mass funerals which were always held after a raid. It was… an unfortunate reality that what usually made up the wood for the funeral pyres was the leftovers of the badly burned homes.

Fishlegs crossed her path toting two enormous timbers, and they gave each other grim nods.

Civilians were picking their way through the wreckage, tidying the place up and trying to get life back to some semblance of normal, as they always did after a raid.

"Astrid!" a voice called out. She spun around to find Tuff-nut Thorston motioning at her. "Astrid, the Chief wants us in the Great Hall!"

* * *

><p>The door to the hall opened to reveal nearly every able-bodied warrior Berk had left. They were gathered in a giant crowd around the central bonfire, and the circular table. Above them all, the golden statue glittered. It depicted a dragon being impaled by a sword. Astrid could hear Stoick's booming voice, and she pushed through the crowd until she was at the table, almost directly across from him. He was bruised and blackened with smoke, but as imposing and inspiring a figure as ever.<p>

"Either we finish them, or they'll finish us! It's the only way we'll be rid of them!" he cried. "If we find the nest and destroy it, the dragons will leave. They'll find another home." He planted his dagger in the map. "One more search. Before the ice sets in."

"Those ships never come back!" one warrior called out.

"We're Vikings." Stoick declared. "It's an occupational hazard! Now, who's with me?"

The warriors were hesitant. Muttering could be heard across the chamber as the collected Vikings weighed their options, and their lives. Stoick frowned, but brightened when he spotted Astrid. He called out, "How many dragons did you kill last night, Astrid?"

"Five dragons and a pack of terrors!" she answered back loudly. "And I drove a Nadder from the arena." Technically she had driven the Zippleback away as well, but with one head missing, it wouldn't last a day. Its carcass was out there, somewhere in the forest.

The muttering ceased as people looked to her, impressed. She spotted Snotlout standing beside his father. He had crossed his arms sourly; the previous night he had only managed to kill four dragons, all of them with assistance from his entourage.

"And will you sail with me to Helheim's Gate, Astrid Hofferson?" Stoick asked.

"I will, sir!" she said immediately, glad for a chance to serve, and regain some of the honor she felt she had lost the night before.

"Astrid Hofferson is with me!" Stoick called out to the indecisive crowd, "And the rest of you? Are you with me?"

Hands raised across the chamber, accompanied by grim and determined faces. Cries were heard of "To the ships!"

"Gather your bags, and gather supplies. We leave in an hour!" Stoick cried.

The hall emptied as the warriors left for their homes, or what was left of their homes. Astrid was charging down the hill towards Hofferson Hall when Fishlegs pulled her aside again. He handed her an oiled leather bag, the most water-proof container they had. "I made copies of what I could." He said. "But here's some of his original notes. You have the original Journal."

She opened it. The journal was indeed inside, along with a few extra sheets of paper. "Thanks, Fishlegs."

"Don't get caught with it." He warned quietly.

"I won't." she promised. "I'm off to war."

"War?" He frowned. "A counter-attack? He's not sailing to… Helheim's Gate… is he?"

She stayed silent. It was the only answer he needed.

"Don't go." He said. "Those ships don't come back."

"Fishlegs, last night I stole from our chief." She replied. "I have to do this!"

"You're probably walking to your grave."

"Then I'll die with a sword in my hand." Astrid shook her head. "You stay here. Teach the children, raise your kid! And find out what the hell Hiccup was up to."

He sighed. "Are you sure?"

"Never ask me _that_ question." She declared quietly. She looked him up and down. "What are you going to do?"

"Find a dragon. Catch it. And train it." He answered shortly. He took her hand and shook it. "Good luck, Astrid. I'll make a sacrifice for you guys."

"You too, Fishlegs. And thanks." She took a few awkward steps away. "I've got to gather some things… we leave in an hour."

* * *

><p><strong>Well I hope you guys enjoyed that action scene. It was the first of a few which will be included in this story. But it also sets the tone. <strong>

**I'm not sure if anyone has seen videos from the Pacific theatre of World War Two, but those flamethrowers caused some of the most horrific wartime images that exist. Second only to the holocaust death camps and even then by a narrow margin. It was these images I turned to when I wrote about the Monstrous Nightmare's attack.**

**According to USA defense department memos circa WWII, The Japanese flame throwers actually used Kerosene, the active ingredient in Nightmare spit. **

**The reality of being raided by these dragons is not nice, and it would be a lot uglier than the movies and the kid's TV show are allowed to depict.**

**Ten chapters in and all the pieces are finally in play. Now I can finally get this story going. Let me know if you guys spot any errors or anything please. And I always appreciate your comments and inputs and whatnots. :)**

**Cheers, **

**-CC**


	12. Chapter 12

**So… I made this decision as I was writing this chapter, but I'm going to stick with it: Hiccup and Astrid's respective storylines are not happening at exactly the same time. I'll try to keep each story at a similar pace while they're separate, but Hiccup's happens over months, Astrid happens over about a week. **

* * *

><p>Two months had passed by since he had met Artemisia, and Hiccup had attended her sessions religiously. Yanick had not taken well to his new calling, but money was money and the government had given him a generous sum. Now Hiccup's life was divided between the Forge and his studies. He spent half his days either in the classroom or the library.<p>

The evenings, however, were free.

At least, this one was. He had always been able to wrangle a few hours after classes to visit with Shahira. A quick meal in the marketplace, followed by a visit to some interesting sight or other. Perhaps a long walk around the markets, or a musical performance, or a play. Hiccup had read Aristotle's Poetics, and the philosopher's insights into the basic construction of stories piqued his passing interest.

Tonight, however, he and Shahira had found a quiet place on the Heptastadion, the enormous dyke which connected the Island of Pharus to the mainland. At one end of the causeway was the Temple of Isis, which had fallen somewhat into ruin. At the other lay the Agora, and an old military fort manned with a skeletal garrison of overworked and underpaid imperial soldiers.

Shahira had been growing more and more silent over the past few weeks. He was starting to worry that something was really wrong.

The view Hiccup had found looked out east across the harbor. The Pharos lighthouse, and Cleopatra's needle were both alight with the orange glow of the early sunset. He and Shahira could both see the brown and yellow sails of the fishing fleets docked across the harbor. Far above them, a multitude of seagulls circled, searching for scraps of food. The water in the harbor was calm and placid. Almost mirror-like except for the occasional gentle wave.

"I was doing some more research in the library." Hiccup told her.

"Shocker."

He snorted. "Wow. Curb that enthusiasm."

"Sorry." She flashed him a smile. "What were you researching?"

"The movement of the planets." He said eagerly. "I was looking at the old Astrological records."

"And?"

"And… look, the heliocentric model does actually work. It explains the planets' movements."

Shahira drew her knees up. "I'm sensing a 'but' coming on here."

Hiccup stared at her, opening and closing his mouth. "…_However_…"

"Aw, come on!"

"Well I couldn't say 'But' without –aaand you're laughing anyway. That's… that's mature."

Shahira bit her tongue and grinned at him. "What's the problem, Hiccup?"

"The problem is time. Circular orbits don't work. They explain the movements of the planets, but the timing is all wrong. They still aren't where they should be at the end of each given month. It also doesn't explain the seasons. I mean… the epicycles explain it; the world gets hotter and colder depending on how far the planet is from the sun."

"And?"

"And that wouldn't happen with a circular orbit. We'd have night and day, but no change in seasons."

"Can't you include Epicycles in the heliocentric model?"

He shook his head. "I don't like them on principle. I don't trust them. No matter which model you use, everything revolves around something else. The mood orbits the Earth. The Earth and all the other planets orbit the sun… But what would cause the planets to travel on an epicycle? What exactly is at the center of those circles? What is at the point of rotation, and why can't we see it when we look up into the sky? There's no object there."

She chewed her lip, thinking hard. "It could be colored black so that we can't make it out in the night sky."

"But it would still eclipse the light of the sun, right? Someone still should have noticed it but I can't find anything in the library!"

"How many hours, exactly, did you spend on this?"

"I dunno…" He shrugged. "A couple days?"

She picked up a small stone and tossed it into the water where, with a plop, it sank and spread ripples across the surface. "To what end?"

"I want to know."

"Well yeah but what difference does it make? Epicycles or not you're still stuck here in Eskendereyya."

"Alexandria."

"Whatever."

"What's going on with you today?"

"I guess I'm just in a mood." She murmured. "I just wonder what the point is, sometimes."

"Hey! You were the one who introduced me to her." He pointed out indignantly.

"I know. The lessons are good. And they're free- which is great! But sometimes she sends us off on the dumbest searches."

"Learning about the world isn't dumb!"

"I want practical lessons, Hiccup! Heliocentric or not, what good does it do me to know how the planets work? It's not like we can get to the others…"

"Not today." He said. "Maybe someday."

"But it's not useful now! All the geometry and math you've learned has helped you at the forge. It helps with your job. The philosophy helps the writers and actors in her class."

"I'm sure there's something in there that can help fishermen as well."

"Well I haven't seen it yet." She said sourly. "I've been going for a couple years now assuming I was going to be able find a job or something." She picked up a rock and weighed it in her hand, then threw it into the harbor with some amount of ferocity. "But I went around the markets today, looking for work. The moment I tell them I can read and write they act like it's some fucking scandal! Learning can be a curse, Hiccup. It'll tell you all about the world and make you realize exactly how much you don't have! I just feel like I'm spinning my wheels here."

"I'm sure someone out there would hire you, Shahira. Artemisia would give you a reference."

"I doubt it. I'm not exactly her star pupil. I have fishing to do. I can't afford to go to all her lessons, or spend half my nights in the library."

"Ouch! Hey!"

"Sorry." But her heart wasn't in the apology and they both knew it. She hugged her shoulders and leaned forward, drawing herself inwards.

Hiccup leaned over and put an arm around her, pulling her close. "What's going on, Shahira?"

The young woman rubbed her eyes and planted her face in her hands, "The fisheries are drying up and the pirates are getting worse and worse. Dad's thinking of sailing us west around the Iberian Peninsula, and then maybe north to Britain."

Hiccup's heart took a swan dive. "You're leaving Alexandria?"

"There's nothing here. Artemisia says it's the most civilized place on the planet, but there's nothing for us. I'm a fisherman's daughter." She said bitterly. "The only way I'm getting out of this is if I find someone to marry. A farmer, or a baker, or a cartwright, or a-"

"…Or a blacksmith?" He asked as certain pieces of the puzzle quietly clicked into place. She stopped in mid-sentence, meeting his gaze. They stared at each other, and she leaned in, kissing him softly before the moment grew awkward. Their lips melded together for just a moment, but in that moment, Hiccup was reminded of blonde hair and captivating, burning blue eyes. He flinched backwards, cursing at himself all the while. Loki's balls! Every time! Every! Damned! Time!

"I knew it!" Shahira said. She crossed her arms and flopped back against the stonework, scowling across the bay. "No wonder you're always running away to the 'library' after sunset. What's her name?"

"Shahira, I'm sorry-"

"Don't. Just… just don't." the young woman replied harshly. "What's her name?"

Hiccup sighed, feeling defeated. "…Astrid Hofferson."

"Astrid Hofferson. I knew it." Her voice was tart. "And what does she do here?"

"She's not here. She's from… from Berk. From my home." Hiccup managed to get the phrase out. He was busy trying to quell the emotions which had suddenly ignited in his chest.

Shahira snorted. "Can't even compete with someone who's half-way around the world. Fantastic."

"It's not like that!" he protested.

Shahira whirled around to face him. "Then what is it like, Hiccup Haddock? What _exactly_ is it like? What have you and I been doing the past two months? After damned near every lesson. No wonder you've been slower than a glacier!"

"That's not fair!" he protested.

Shahira rocketed to her feet. "What's not fair is you wasting my time!"

"I thought I was over her."

She glared down at him. "Shouldn't you figure that sort of thing out _before_ you take up with someone else?"

When he neglected to comment, she just growled in frustration. "I don't blame you for carrying a torch. I just wish you hadn't been leading me on."

"I'm sorry." He said feebly. What else could he say?" He still hadn't told her. Not about Berk and his father, nor about Toothless. When Hiccup sat and looked long and hard at his own feelings, he realized that he had no intention of telling Shahira. He liked her very much, and enjoyed her company. She was certainly beautiful, but…

But what?

But Astrid, that's what.

Hiccup had carried a torch for Astrid Hofferson for as long as he could remember. He had memories of loving that girl since before Gobber had taken him in at the forge. He'd never had a hope, of course. But that hadn't stopped his day dreams. She was his distant star. Her courage and determination and loyalty to the tribe were ideals he always shooting for, but somehow always fell short of. The way that she, even as a teenager, had been such a help to Berk…. Gods above, he had envied her so much. She was everything he had ever wanted to be, to the point where there were only two possible things he could feel towards her: hate, or love. Hiccup regarded himself as many, many things, but hateful was not one of them.

Then he had discovered Toothless and the truth about Dragons. Much distance and even more time had been put between them, yet neither had extinguished that flame. During the worst moments of his travels, she had always been floating in the sky above him, a guiding light every bit as strong as the North Star. The true north of his moral compass.

Heh… not that he'd managed to stay the course all that well; the thought caused the weight in his chest to increase tenfold. The sudden constriction in his chest was almost painful.

Hiccup had never found glory on the battlefield. None the likes of which Astrid had always celebrated. And as for courage and loyalty, well…

He had run from Berk when he didn't fit. He had run from the Varangian guards when he didn't fit. He had run from practically every town or village which had ever taken him in. Every damned time they started to accept him, he'd do something stupid, like balance a bible on a couple of eggs.

Then it was torches, pitchforks, and ridiculous amounts of anger. And he'd never had the gumption to stay and fight. Not the way Astrid chose to soldier through every situation, with her head held high.

His own cowardice was the worst part, and it was what made thinking about her so utterly painful that he actively stopped his thoughts from drifting in her direction, and in Berk's direction.

He had other questions. Things which haunted him in the dark of the night, when the world grew too quiet to drown out his thoughts. Was Astrid married? Was she happy? Was there any way in Hel's realm that Hiccup could have been her partner? How could things possibly have ever worked between two such different people?

How would Astrid react if she saw him now? He knew that she would kill him immediately just for riding Toothless. But what hurt the most was the disbelief, disappointment, and betrayal which he always imagined her eyes carrying as she swung the axe at him. Or perhaps Stoick would carry out the act. Either way his executioner would have that same look in his eyes.

That gulf hurt. Hiccup knew that Berk would never accept him back. Not if they knew the truth. Perhaps they wouldn't regardless. He doubted he was missed much; his over eagerness had caused enough property damage. But if they let him back in, he would still be living a lie. Toothless would be hidden away in the Cove for his entire life. What would happen if someone found the dragon? What if they killed him while Hiccup was in Gobber's forge, or doing the chores? Toothless' life was in danger every minute he was on that island.

There was too much at stake. As painful as it was, at least Hiccup could live in a world where Astrid hated his guts, and the whole village viewed him as a traitor. A world without Toothless, on the other hand, without flight, was completely intolerable. Leaving was the only decision he could have made. It was just the worst decision of his life.

Hiccup realized that Shahira was walking away, her arms crossed and her shoulders hunched. He watched her for a few seconds. He could do it, he knew. All he had to do was get up, and kiss her. They could talk through the problem. Shahira was reasonable enough. But he wasn't willing to take things further with Shahira. It would mean tying himself down for good, and tying Toothless down with him, and he couldn't do that to his friend. Not when there was still a risk of pitchfork and torch-toting hordes.

Instead he found his gaze drawn to the Library. The sun was setting, and Toothless would be gearing up for their nightly tour of the coastline.

* * *

><p>A silent day was spent at the Forge. Yanick hadn't even acknowledged him when he'd arrived. He suspected Shahira's father had said something to the smith. Still, he had enough work to distract him. Yanick still paid him, and he was out the door a few hours before sunset. Bereft of Shahira's usual company, Hiccup found himself wandering aimless through the quiet streets until he found himself outside an ancient Roman villa.<p>

Artemisia's Villa, to be specific. It was set back a little from the street, with a pale, yellowing outer wall hiding its interior garden. Hiccup had been there several times. Artemisia had helped him work through his heliocentric equations, and search for errors.

The villa was spotlessly maintained. Artemisia kept several slaves including a gardener, as well as a cook. She was one of the few people in the city wealthy enough to afford them. Vikings also had thralls and slaves, though Berk was too poor and too busy to let their economy grow through the trade. Hiccup found the practice a little unpalatable, mostly because he could imagine how utterly trapped he would feel had their places been reversed. Yet Artemisia seemed to treat her slaves with dignity and respect, and they seemed quite content. Hiccup was so taken with her ideas and enthusiasm that he found it easy to forgive.

He tread up the path to her front door, and knocked a few times. A small panel opened, and the stern face of one of her slaves greeted him.

"Hi." Hiccup said.

"Who is it, Lugos?" that was Artemisia's voice.

"One of your students, Mistress." The man reported.

"Well open the door and let him in!"

The door creaked open, revealing the red and white tiled interior. Gold trimming lined the window sills, and wound its way up narrow pillars. The entrance hall was lined with marble statues of varying types and sizes. Artemisia was standing in the center of the foyer, looking surprised, but not displeased. "Hiccup?"

"Hello." Hiccup waved awkwardly. Lugos the slave stood sentry at the door. He was an older fellow with graying hair and suspicious eyes. He was dressed in a modest grey robe, which offset Artemisia's stately white dress.

"Who's there?" Another man's voice called out, echoing down the hall.

"It's one of my students." Artemisia called back.

"He here to ask for money?"

"Martius!" she barked uncharacteristically.

"Alright, easy…" the man's voice said.

"My mistress is currently occupied." Lugos reported, giving Hiccup a cold glare.

"Lugos, close the door, please, will you?" Artemisia asked. She strode forward a few paces and smiled at Hiccup. "It's always a pleasure to see you. What's going on?"

"Sorry. I think I really upset Shahira, and I was looking for…" Hiccup paused, not entirely sure why he had come over.

"Advice?" Artemisia guessed, the corner of her mouth curling up into a smile.

"A distraction." He corrected awkwardly. "You know what, it really isn't important. You have company, and…"

"Nonsense." Artemisia gently grabbed his arm and gently but firmly propelled him down the hallway, with Lugos following behind at a respectful distance. The Villa was a square building with a small lush garden in the center, open to the sky. A set of two finely upholstered chaise lounges were set up in the courtyard. A man was lying across one of them, one hand occupied with a glass of wine, the other picking grapes out of a bowl in front of him. Hiccup's pace slowed considerably when he spotted the black eagle insignia on the man's leather cuirass. Not to mention the armor he had piled beside his chair. The man looked to be similar to Artemisia in age. His beard was thick, but greying. A few scars dotted his features, one across his eyebrow and another cutting across his cheek towards his chin. It gave his face an irregular look. He was pressing the wineglass to his forehead.

Hiccup found himself skillfully maneuvered onto the sofa across from the stranger. Artemisia circled and took up station leaning against the man's lounge chair. "Hiccup, this is Martius, captain of the city guard. He's a… a friend."

"Is _that_ all?" the guardsmen asked cheekily.

Artemisia tsked and slapped him across the head.

"Ow!" the man glared up at her. "You're going to do more damage than the rock did, you know."

"I'm sure there's nothing inside to bruise." She said pleasantly. "Lugos!"

"Mistress." The slave materialized.

"Bring another glass of wine for Hiccup, please. And have the cook prepare a meal for us."

"It will be done, Mistress." The slave bowed respectfully and dematerialized.

Martius, the guard captain, was staring at Hiccup. "So, troubles with women?"

"It's complicated."

"Let me let you in on a little secret, my friend." Martius leaned forward, his leather cuirass creaking. "Romance always is."

"We get along quite well, I suppose." The woman mused, taking a seat beside the captain. She shot him a subtle glare. "Though you could speak of your work a little less while under my roof."

"You asked for news." He shot back defensively.

"You two are living together?" Hiccup said, surprised.

"Not entirely sure that's your business." The man said. He was still holding that glass of wine to his forehead.

"Excuse Martius, Hiccup." Artemisia said patiently. "He's had a very trying day."

"Sorry. It's just… you didn't strike me as the… domestic type of person." Hiccup told her.

"Oh, we're not married." Martius gazed down bitterly at the garden's grass. "Situation's a little too delicate to make a political statement like that."

"How do you mean? Surely in a city this large, no one would care about that."

"In a city this large, everyone cares about something." Martius' free hand joined Artemisia's at his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. He said, "Artemisia doesn't get along with the people I always have to pander to." He smiled up at her and they shared a kiss. Hiccup politely averted his eyes, feeling wholly embarrassed, but he could still hear them.

"You run your mouth too much, my dear."

"A habit I have no intention of curtailing." She replied.

"Yeah, well… till you do…" the captain died away into somewhat bitter silence. When he spoke again, he addressed Hiccup. "What's your name?"

"Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third."

"Ha ha ha!"

"Martius!"

"Sorry. Well Hiccup… you know where you are?"

"A city devoted to natural philosophy and the preservation of knowledge." Hiccup said earnestly.

Martius snorted, watching him carefully. "Oh, you've done a good job on this one, Artemisia."

Hiccup's teacher scowled down at her partner. Martius leaned forward, ignoring her reaction. He lowered his wineglass revealing a horrendously ugly purple bruise. "You're sitting at the ass end of a crumbling empire, you know that? Up north you got the former Roman Empire. They used to be effective, but that lion lost its teeth a long time ago. They're under constant attack, and the emperors are too busy killing each other off to bother with proper defense. You know they had four in one year? It's been insane. You can hardly find one that gets a rule over ten years long, and he's nearly always murdered. There's no stability. Charlemagne did a lot of good, and he put it back on its feet, but his brat Louis' in power now, and the Caliphate hounds have been chasing him all the way up the Iberian Peninsula." He grunted thoughtfully, and looked Hiccup up and down. "But you already know that. I mean… you were a Varangian."

Hiccup's jaw dropped. "How did you know?"

Behind Martius' chair, Artemisia had raised her eyebrows. She was giving Hiccup a thorough and curious examination. He hadn't shared much of his past with her either.

"You're a Dane." Martius said. "Every Dane who ever came this far south was a Varangian. It's not hard to figure out. What interests me is that there are no Varangians garrisoned here in Alexandria." Once again the Captain was giving him a thorough examination. "That would mean you're either here on special assignment… or you're a deserter."

"I…" Hiccup was very aware of the black Imperial eagle crest which adorned so much of the man's clothing. It was on the front of his shield, which he had propped against the side of his deck chair.

"Relax." Martius said, sensing the direction of Hiccup's thoughts. "You're one of Artemisia's students, so as far as I'm concerned, you're not a troublemaker. That's good enough. I'm not about to turn you in."

"I…" Hiccup's shoulders slumped. "I left them. I don't like fighting."

"No one does. Only the insane. But some people seem to have a knack for it." The guardsmen took another sip of wine.

"They asked me to march into people's homes and burn their stuff. And sometimes…" Hiccup sighed.

"Sometimes they'd just steal whatever wasn't nailed down?" Martius guessed.

For the second time, Hiccup fixed him with a look of amazement. "How did you know?"

"It's what most people would do if they were given free rein to charge into people's homes and churches and ferret around."

"I think most people are better than that."

"That makes one of us. This morning I was trying to unjam the canal's sluice gate-"

"I helped rebuild those!" Hiccup said proudly. "The mechanism was my design!"

"Well you didn't make them corpse proof." Martius said sourly. "Next time put up a goddamned net. Someone had slit a few throats and tossed the bodies in. A kid found them, and I spent my morning fishing them out."

"Could we perhaps find a more civil topic?" Artemisia asked.

The guard captain wasn't listening. He was staring blankly into space. Hiccup had seen very similar expressions on the faces of the veteran Varangian mercenaries. He had spoken to a few of them, and he had found the best way to approach them was to simply let them tell their stories. Sharing lightened the burden.

Martius said, "By noon I was standing in a shield wall in the delta quarter to keep the Christians and Muslims from stomping the Jews flat _again_. The Jews weren't helping. They were tossing rocks right over our heads at the other two groups, and yelling all kinds of savory words."

"Lovely." Hiccup murmured. He himself stayed away from the eastern end of the city; it was full of rough neighborhoods.

"Yeah. We arrested a dozen of them, but they're all just young lads with bellies full of hatred and booze."

"Why would anyone want to form a mob and start a riot like that?"

"It's complicated. Everyone's got a different reason."

"Like what?"

"Well…" Martius frowned into his glass. "Usury is one reason. One of many."

"Usury? Like… money-lending?"

Martius clarified. "Money lending with interest. I'm a Christian myself. And the empire which this city is a part of is predominantly a Christian empire. Most imperial citizens are Christians. Now, in my religion, lending money and expecting it to be paid back _with interest_ is immoral. So I can't do that. I'm not allowed. Islam has similar rules."

"And the Jews don't?" Hiccup guessed.

Martius shifted uncomfortably. "They have rules as well, but due to Imperial Law, they also aren't really allowed to own land, so they can't be farmers. They can't be artisans or blacksmiths either. No crafting or creating of any kind. So what can they do? How are they supposed to feed themselves and their kids? Moneylending with interest is necessary for a complex economy. It is a job someone has to do, and it is something the Jews are _allowed_ to do. They do it because it's the only way they can feed their families, rules or not."

"That's unfair!"

"Absolutely it is. But your average deadbeat drunk doesn't see that big picture, and he certainly doesn't understand the intricacies of the money-lending business. I think there is such a thing as fair interest. After all, moneylenders have to make a living too. But no, what the drunk sees is that the Jews over there have some control over money when he has none himself. So he picks up a stick and gets a group of friends together to go over there and take some of that money in the name of what he thinks is fairness. What the Jews see is just the latest terrible act against them. One in a centuries-long story of persecution. They riot and strike back. Maybe a few stones are thrown. Maybe a few people get killed. Then everything goes to shit." The guard captain downed his glass in one go and set it down next to the grapes on the table in front of him.

"And you guys have to step in the middle?"

"Well what can we do? They're working from such radically different perspectives that even if you get both groups in a room talking, they'll just talk past each other. How is one drunk supposed to even grasp the mindset of a community suffering from centuries of persecution? And do you think the Jews are going to listen to him rant about fairness? Will there be any sympathy there?"

"It wouldn't be deserved."

"No." Martius agreed. "But it is likely that the people killed in the Jewish counter-riot weren't even involved in the plot. It is also entirely possible that the Jewish community has been persecuted for so long they don't see a difference between the citizens who attacked them and those who didn't. Everyone is their enemy, and that bunker mindset doesn't help resolve the issues. You just get persecution going in the other direction. Sympathy and empathy are needed on some level if you want them to actually resolve their grievances."

"But surely with enough explaining, they can understand each other." Hiccup reasoned. "We're all human. At the end of the day, we all want the same thing, right?"

"That's an idea which angry rioters aren't usually willing to listen to. You gotta separate them and let things cool before you start making speeches like that."

"And that's where your shield wall comes in."

"Damned straight. My boys are still patrolling that area now, trying to discourage more violence. Take my advice, Hiccup: If you ever find yourself having to police a city, never let a crowd get too big. The bigger the crowd, the stupider it acts." The guard glanced fondly around the villa. "This place is quiet and sensible. That's why I love it."

"And the people in it?" Artemisia prompted lightly.

Martius grinned at her teasingly. "One or two."

She leaned down and kissed him again. She said, "Martius, you know you're welcome any time, but…"

"I know." The man said patiently, rising and gathering his equipment. "One of your pups is whining for milk." He gave Hiccup a dry smile and headed for the door.

"Martius," Hiccup said, a thought striking him.

The captain turned expectantly.

"Some of your guards have been shaking down fisherman for extra money." Hiccup told him.

The guardsman scowled. "They shouldn't be."

"Well it happened to Shahira and her father."

"Who?"

"Anton Pandev." Artemisia said. "He usually docks his ship at the cheaper quay, so his daughter says."

The man nodded slowly. "I'll look into it. Can't have guards shaking down citizens. We have enough trust issues as it is."

Hiccup and Artemisia watched in silence as the guardsmen strolled out, his armor jingling quietly. Lugos escorted him down the hall and out of sight.

"You'll have to forgive Martius, Hiccup." She said fondly.

"He seems very… worldly." Hiccup replied as diplomatically as he could.

"It is Martius' job to keep the streets safe." She explained. "Which means that while you and I are in our classroom, roaming the worlds of philosophy, mathematics and imagination, he is investigating murders, wrestling drunken thugs to the ground, stepping between rioting crowds… all manner of terrible things. He is in constant conflict with the most thoughtless, horrible people this civilization has to offer. I fear it has given him a rather… jaded outlook. It is easy to call him crude or vulgar, but we must remember that people like him are the reason people like us can work and live in peace."

"How did you two meet?"

"A group of young Saracens decided they were going to burn my school to the ground. Martius stopped them. He'll bloody his sword to protect Alexandria's citizens from foreign dangers and one another. That is worth a lot more respect than he usually gets." She chewed her lip for a moment, then smiled at him. "Follow me, Hiccup."

She led him through the villa, their steps echoing quietly on the pristine tiled floor. Lugos materialized and shadowed them at a respectful distance. "What happened between you and Miss Pandev? I thought things were going rather well…"

"They were." Hiccup said, grimacing. He had been hoping to avoid thinking about it. "But we… hit a wall."

"Yours or hers?"

"Mine." He said shortly.

Artemisia chuckled as she directed them towards a heavy door at the back of the Villa. "Very well, let us leave that topic alone for now. I'll show you what I do in my spare time."

* * *

><p>The room was enormous. Lugos floated past Hiccup as he entered, and began using a striker to light the various strategically placed candles. The flickering flames revealed wooden shelves full of scrolls, and a dozen chalkboards with intricate calculations systematically scrawled across them. A large part of the floor was taken up with another sand pit. The straight wooden staff planted in one corner confirmed Hiccup's suspicion that it served the same function the classroom floor did; a means to explore visual ideas, and show diagrams quickly. It was a means to write and think without using paper or chalk. To look at ideas from a different perspective.<p>

There was more. An enormous ornate table was at the far end, piled high with scrolls. Two models were placed on stands between the table and the pit. One of them Hiccup recognized as Aristarchus' Heliocentric model of the solar system. The other was a strange construction of three dimensional polygons. A Cube was on the outside, serving both functions as an object within the model, and as the frame around it. A large three-sided pyramid was suspended in the middle of the cube. Inside of it lay three other polyhedrons, each one smaller than, and nestled within its predecessor.

It was a strange construction, and had it been anywhere else, Hiccup would have assumed it merely a tacky piece of art. But this was in Artemisia's inner sanctum. _He was in Artemisia's inner sanctum!_ Hiccup knew by its placement that it held extreme significance to his teacher and mentor.

"There was a Greek philosopher named Plato. Have you ever heard of him?" Artemisia asked, an eager light in her eye as she circled around to the desk.

"The name rings a bell, but I haven't explored his writings yet." Hiccup told her.

Artemisia stared down at the table with an almost wild look, like a starved animal seeking food. She said, "I would like you to imagine that our entire civilization is sitting in a cave, Hiccup. We've been chained up, fastened to the floor in such a way as to keep us staring at a wall, unable to see what is behind us, or to either side. We may only witness the shadows which appear on that cave wall. We may believe of them what we wish. We may name them. We may worship them. We may curse them. But they are all most of us are allowed to see, and most of us are perfectly happy to sit there in the darkness of that one single cave, watching those shadows move across the wall."

"Alright." Hiccup said, picturing what she described. He couldn't help but insert Berkians into the thought experiment. He could see his tribe, the Hairy Hooligans, all lined up in their cave staring dreamily at a fire-lit sandstone wall.

Artemisia kept speaking. "However it is both the burden, and the blessing of inquisitive minds that we are capable of breaking those chains, and when we do, we may turn and find out what is creating those shadows. More than that, we may stroll out of the cave and learn of the world beyond it. Bask in the sunlight of reason. And when we are done wandering the outside world, when we have learned what is true, we may take that knowledge back into the cave, and free the others. It is our job to seek the truth."

"We're already well outside the cave." Hiccup said proudly. "Look at this city! Look how big it is! Look how advanced-"

"No!" Artemisia shook her head. "All that we see and hear, all of this… this civilization. The markets, the harbor. All that Martius deals with. All the comings and goings… all of these common things which most men observe… are merely the shadows on the wall of that cave. While I disagree with Plato on many counts, he and I both agree that the cosmos so much grander than we could ever imagine. But that does not mean that it is all beyond our comprehension. We are merely chained." She stared hungrily at Aristarchus' heliocentric model. "On your first day, you said that Mercury was actually Odin, the Wanderer. Tell me, Hiccup, when you see that planet up in the sky, do you believe you are looking at Odin?"

"I… did." Hiccup said carefully. "Now I'm wondering if I'm looking at another world. Muspelheim perhaps, home of the fire giants. Mercury is closer to the sun, after all. It must be very hot there."

Artemisia pressed her knuckles to her mouth, staring down at the model. "Perhaps it is just another shadow on the wall. The planets can't literally _be_ the Gods; they wander the same paths every year. Every day, Helios circles us, riding his chariot across the sky. Does that make sense? Is that all he does? How many things do you do in a day, Hiccup? East to west, east to west, east to west… is your path always the same? Surely the Gods have better things to do than simply circle us.

"Perhaps the planets are effigies or totems of some sort. Perhaps as you say, they are other worlds, but there must be some mechanism in place. To make them move, to help them choose their path. Their movements are predictable, therefore they are subject to mathematical laws. To Geometrical laws. The planets and their movements are yet more shadows. To map them is a step forward. But to know what makes them move, what structures support them… What are the mechanisms of the Cosmos? What does it look like when the curtain is pulled away? When we have freed ourselves from Plato's chained herd, and can finally look behind us at what is making these shadows, that is true progress, Hiccup. And Natural Philosophy will get us there!"

Moving rapidly, she strode over to the geometrical model, and laid a careful hand on it. "We are going to crack open the Gods' systems! Plato found the five perfect solids. The points of their geometry, where each match and intersect are nearly an exact match to the movements of the planets in their phases. All it'll take is a little more observation. A little more refinements in my calculations!" she pointed excitedly at the model. "We are inside Plato's perfect solids. A giant, nested model. Whatever gods are in charge, their plans are here, locked in this model!"

Hiccup was feeling dizzy. Just this morning he had been wondering how it seemed that the Earth would be different distances from the sun at different parts of the year, and _now…_ he said, "That's… ambitious."

Artemisia frowned, "Of course it is. But once we know it… we can start asking the real questions."

"I'm just a student here, Artemisia. I haven't even been in your class for a year. How can I possibly help?"

"You've been in my classes for three months, and mastered ideas which are still causing others a problem after a decade of hard work. Hiccup, if anyone I know _can_ help me, it's you."

"But it's all so… big!"

She quirked a smile. "I know I've said this to you before, Hiccup, but distance and size alone should not be impressive. It is merely geometry. Whether a cube is a meter across, or a thousand kilometers across, it is still just a shape. It can be explained, predicted and calculated. This is all merely a matter of geometry and observation." She gestured at the surrounding shelves, piled high with scrolls. "I have copied nearly every Astrological record in the Mediterranean, but the records are incomplete, and very often inaccurate. I need more precise measurements."

"Well you've got the geometry down." Hiccup said. "But how on Earth can you observe the planets? The nighttime lights from this city block out the sky."

"And it is cloudy quite often. I know. I know." She sighed. "If it weren't for my school, I would have moved to the countryside long ago. I do have an estate there, with the equipment necessary for observation. But it is forty kilometers away, and I cannot spend four hours a day riding constantly in and out of Alexandria. I have too many responsibilities here."

Hiccup felt a chill creep down his spine, as if someone was sliding a chunk of snow down the back of his neck. An idea had taken root in his mind. It was growing more powerful by the moment. At his top speed, Toothless could cover twenty kilometers in a matter of seconds.

"Martius does a wonderful job in this city, dealing with mobs and politics. But that isn't my arena! I want to know what goes on in the Heavens!" her arms dropped to her sides. "If only I could get closer to them…"

Hiccup stared down at the model on her table, with its intricate polygons. This was what drove Artemisia; the search for truth, and a greater understanding of the world. If anyone in the world could handle the truth… it was her.

To trust her was a heavy choice, but he made it quickly. He said, "What if I told you I had a way to get you anywhere you needed to go, in just a few minutes?"

She gave him a sharp look. "Outside the city?"

"To your estate. To the top of a mountain. Anywhere." He smiled at her. "Even above the clouds."

* * *

><p><strong>A one reader pointed out that 'Prodigal Son' is not an appropriate name for this story. I had understood that phrase to refer to a wayward son. I was wrong. Prodigal, in point of fact, means 'unwise with one's money', and irresponsible is not exactly the picture I was going for with this particular version of Hiccup. If any of you have any suggestions for a different Fic name, please send me a message.<strong>

**I would like to address two concerns which were raised about Chapter 10 (Hiccup's first lesson with Artemisia).**

**Firstly, I would like to apologize for an editing flub in Chapter 10. I had originally intended to simply use Hypatia, but I in the end decided to change the name, as well as a few facets of her opinion, research, and fate to better fit the story. Making her 'Artemisia' instead granted me more flexibility as I'm working with a fictional character. However I failed to change the name in all instances and that caused a little confusion. My apologies.**

**Secondly, a few readers wondered where in the Bible it states that the earth is flat. The "Four Corners" of the earth are referenced multiple times in the Bible. Spheres do not have corners. This could very reasonably be interpreted as the four points of a compass, but that is not what was being taught and preached at that time. People were told by teachers and pastors alike that the earth was both flat, and at the center of the solar system (if not the universe). Copernicus and Galileo had yet to disprove it. These hypotheses were considered fact at that time, and they were taught as such by **_**most **_**people.**

**As for this chapter, I understand that sympathy for Martius (a policeman) may perhaps be difficult, given the recent events in Ferguson and New York. Racial and religious tensions have always been an aspect of any civilized society, and one of my goals is to bring Alexandria to life, its aspects both wondrous, and unsavory. Putting Hiccup in the middle of a riot could do that, but we're going slow enough as it is, and this way I get to save a chapter, explore the issues of big city life, AND show more of Artemisia's character and background. It's a matter of efficiency.**

**The Black Eagle crest mentioned on Martius' shield is significant as well. Traditionally, the symbol of the Byzantine Empire was a blue cross, yet that was introduced around forty-five years AFTER this story takes place. Before the symbol was changed to reflect the Empire's new Christian heritage, Byzantium still used the Black Eagle, a symbol the Romans had been using for centuries. Expect it to make a few more appearances in this story. **

**Artemisia's Cave is actually a philosophical metaphor presented by Plato in his book "The Republic". From what I understand, this book is probably one of the most influential in human history, second only to the Bible and The Origin of the Species.**

**Plato would not actually have gotten along very well with Artemisia. He did not believe in comparing his ideas to reality, in large part because he felt reality was merely the shadows on the wall of his cave. Thus to discuss and compare with reality was to compare with a compromised test sample, so to speak. Better to find the source. He did not believe in the Scientific Method and Experimentation. But he was a very intelligent man nevertheless, and the human race was greatly affected by his ideas. **

**Plato's philosophy was passed through his student Aristotle all the way down through the ranks of history's philosophers to St. Thomas Aquinas, and as I understand it, it is to that man we owe Modern Christianity. His three-tiered system of God's Law, Natural Law, and Human Law revolutionized the way the Church approached the world. While it did somewhat distance God from everyday life, it was a much needed update which resolved an enormous number of moral inconsistencies between the Biblical accounts, and reality. **

**Through Aquinas, Plato helped to shape Christianity. Christianity in turn shaped the history of the western world. I do want to state that my understanding of Church History is not complete, and I would appreciate any input you guys have! **

**Artemisia's ideas about what drives the universe, about the planets movements tracing the points of Plato's perfect solids are stolen straight from the theories of a 17****th**** century German scientist named Johannes Kepler. **

**In the end, he turned out to be wrong. The observations and calculations which he felt proved his theory, happened to be no more than a coincidence. He spent years trying to make the Perfect Solids model work, utterly convinced he had cracked God's mechanisms open like a hard-boiled egg. Yet none of his calculations ever quite worked out, no matter how carefully he observed the planet's movements.**

**In the end, he abandoned the idea in favor of another: the Elliptical Orbit, and the formulas he invented in the last few years of his life are today the basis of every prediction we have ever made about the movements of solar bodies. **

**In 1961, the Russians put a man in Earth's orbit. In 1969, the Americans put a man on the moon. The two voyager missions were launched into our solar system, and they spent a considerable time looping around the orbits of our various planets, taking amazing pictures and gathering vast amounts of data. Just a month ago we landed the Rosetta spacecraft on a passing comet. We have a permanent space station in orbit, and are currently planning a manned mission to Mars. None of these ventures would be possible if three-hundred years ago when the evidence didn't fit his hypothesis, Johannes Kepler had been unwilling to throw away his life's work and start again from scratch. That is the legacy of a very brave man, and a true scientist.**

**On a final note, I bought HTTYD 2 on Blu-ray. In the dragon facts, it says that Toothless can move faster than the speed of sound. That is to say, he can cover over a kilometer of ground every three seconds. This means that in fact his most devastating attack would be the sonic boom which follows in his wake. This is an interesting fact. I plan to revisit it at a later date. It also means that for Hiccup and Toothless, Artemisia's townhome is mere minutes from Alexandria. He could truly take her anywhere.**


	13. Chapter 13

Prodigal Son 13

Astrid burst through the door of her home, and headed immediately towards the back wall where her modest chest sat. Every Hofferson had one. In an overcrowded home where even beds were shared, everyone needed a place to put their own personal belongings. Astrid didn't own much. A few changes of clothing, a sheep skin cloak with a deep hood, a few small weapons, her shield, and a set of thick cloth armor. Astrid didn't waste her time with heavy chainmail or iron plates. Those slowed her down far too much, and they absorbed heat. She had watched a warrior or two get cooked inside his own armor. It looked like a painful death. She dressed quickly, strapping on her knee pads, and throwing her cloak over her shoulders.

She grabbed Fishlegs satchel and pulled out the loose papers, throwing them into the chest, replacing them with a few buns and some salted fish which she had wrapped carefully. She was just hefting her shield when she heard a few steps behind her.

"Astrid?"

She turned. Her mother was standing by her bed watching her.

"Stoick's leading a counter-attack." Astrid declared. "In half an hour we sail for Helheim's gate."

Brunhilda winced, small muscles working at the back of her jaw. She said, I'll make a sacrifice for you." She was a hard woman. A mother, a wife, and a warrior. It was rare to see her looking at all shaken. But Astrid could see the worry in her eyes.

"I'm coming back, mum."

"I know." Brunhilda didn't sound convinced. She strode forward and put her hand over Astrid's as the younger woman tightened her grip on her axe. With her other hand, Brunhilda stroked her daughter's hair and drew her into a hug. "Just… never let go of this weapon."

"Of course not." Astrid replied. "How else am I supposed to kill dragons?"

Brunhilda chuckled and held her daughter at arm's length, looking her up and down. "Not just that. If you… You're a great warrior, Astrid. Your father and I are very proud of you."

Astrid felt a bubble of warmth rise in her chest, and allowed herself to take a little pride in her mother's praise. "Thanks mum."

"Just… have a care, alright?" Brunhilda's gaze was drawn downwards to a piece of paper lying beside the open chest. Astrid's heart leapt into her mouth as she realized that it was Hiccup's sketch. The one she had taken from Stoick's home. It had flown loose from the pile when she had flung his papers into her chest.

Brunhilda bent down and picked it up, frowning curiously. She cracked a smile when she read the note underneath. "Where did you get this?"

"It was Hiccup's."

"Of course it was. Who else would have drawn this? Snotlout?" Brunhilda held the paper up to the light, giving it a thorough examination. "Look at the detail!" she flashed her daughter a smile. "He really captured you, Astrid."

"I know." She whispered.

Brunhilda shot her a look. "Where did you find this?"

"Gobber had a collection of Hiccup's drawings." Astrid said as casually as she could manage.

They stared at each other, Brunhilda's smile fading. She said, "Where did you _actually_ get it, Astrid?"

"Gobber's forge."

Her mother's eyes narrowed. "Don't forget that I raised you, girl. Don't think I don't know when you're lying."

For a moment, Astrid wondered whether or not to tell the truth. Whether her mother would understand, would be able to handle what she and Fishlegs- well… mostly Fishlegs- had figured out. The Hofferson clan had lost many good men and women to the Dragons including Astrid's beloved uncle, Finn. But if she admitted where it came from, that she had broken into the chief's home, it would bring shame to the Hofferson clan. Astrid felt a great tug upon her heart strings as she realized how badly she wanted her mother's last thoughts of her to be positive.

Brunhilda's fears were justified; every expedition to Helheim's gate had failed, and they had all incurred heavy losses for the village. When Brunhilda had told her to hold on to her axe, it was so that if she were killed, she would end up in Asgard. There was a very real chance Astrid was not coming back, and she wanted to be remembered as an honorable warrior, not a thief. So she stuck her chin out defiantly and snatched the paper away, carefully rolling it up so as not to smear or damage the sketch. She placed it carefully in the chest and then shut the lid. "I've got to go, mum."

Brunhilda's eyes lingered on the closed container, but she sighed. "Alright. We'll talk when you get back."

"Yeah…" Astrid pulled her mother into a last, tight hug. Then she hefted her shield and walked out with her head held high. She could feel Brunhilda's gaze on the back of her neck.

* * *

><p>Astrid hopped off the dock and into the longship. She kept her feet even as it creaked and swayed against the wooden pier. The boat was stocked with minimal supplies, so as to not take too much from Berk's storehouses. It was full of heavily armed Viking warriors wearing grim but determined faces. One or two of her distant cousins were there.<p>

Astrid crept light-footed from bench to bench. She cringed as Snotlout nodded to her from the bow, and threw her a wink. Instead she slipped into the only other remaining seat: beside Tuffnut. Astrid leaned over him and strapped her shield into place beside the others. She took her seat as the inside oarsmen. She had never had much to do with Tuffnut. He had a reputation for being rather dim. Oddly enough it was something Astrid doubted. His fascination with death and destruction –one he shared with his sister- often caused him to look at situations in a different light from the rest of the villagers, it was true. He was bloodthirsty, but he wasn't stupid.

"I told my mom we were going to Helheim's gate." Tuffnut said conversationally. He was staring up at Berk, looking a little pale.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He said shakily. His hands were constantly shifting their grip on his oar. "Yeah, she said she was scared because those ships never come back. But I said 'Of course they don't, mom. Ships can't sail themselves! They have no brain!' that's what I said." he paused for a moment, looking sullen.

"I'm sure that's what she meant." Astrid managed.

He kicked the hull beside him. "Yeah! Stupid ships!"

"Where's your spear?"

He tapped his foot against it. He had placed it on the floor underneath their rowing benches.

"Just remember: Hold on to that and in a few days' time you'll either be back home, or in Valhalla, drinking with the gods."

"Never gone into a fight without Ruff before…"

"Well now she won't be around to distract you from the carnage." Astrid offered awkwardly.

He gave her a blank look, and then grinned. "Yeah. It's gonna be awesome!"

There was a yell from the dock; Stoick the Vast had arrived. Berk's chieftain stood tall, shining in his chainmail. His mighty hammer was gripped tightly in his hand. He bellowed loudly, silencing the four longships. Every warrior turned to look at him.

"My friends, today is a day of reckoning!" Stoick declared. "Today we strike back at the beasts. I am tired of watching our stores get plundered, our warriors slaughtered, and our village burn!"

Unbidden came the image of the young child tottering out of the burning building. Astrid glanced across the dock at Hundolfr Hrolfson who was seated in a different longship. The destitute father had acquired a new mace. He looked… quite calm, actually. Peaceful.

"I swear on Thor's name, we are going to find their nest. We are going to tear it down, and force them off this archipelago once and for all! Today we sail for Helheim's gate!" Stoick thrust his axe into the air, prompting the crews of the four longships to cheer.

Astrid searched the cliff above the docks. She spotted her mother standing beside Gobber and Fishlegs near the top of the ramp, and waved. Brunhilda's distant shape waved back.

"Shove off." Stoick ordered, hopping into the vessel adjacent to hers. The ships were pushed away from the docks. Astrid gripped her oar, and began to row. She kept her eyes on her home island of Berk until it sank from sight. She wondered for the briefest of moments why it sank as opposed to simply growing smaller, but dismissed the curiosity as quickly as it had arrived. The sails were being unfurled, and she had weapons to sharpen and polish. They would do Thor proud, or die trying.

* * *

><p>They sailed for a day and a night. Helheim's gate was known to every Viking fisherman. What lay beyond it, however, was a mystery. A great unnatural wall of writhing mist stretched across the horizon in an even line, parting the Dragons' territory from that of Men. Around the boats in every direction stretched calm, endless blue waves. Before them lay the oily, thick grey fog. Within it they could see the faint outlines of sharp, rocky outcroppings. Small shapes flitted through the mist, unseen except for their motion.<p>

"Have no fear!" Astrid could hear Stoick's voice from the lead vessel. "We are Thor's chosen warriors!"

The ships' sails were lowered, and everyone took up an oar. They rowed slowly into the mist. The sun dimmed, and silence fell like a blanket as they churned slowly through the mist. Even the constant breaking of waves on rough rock seemed muffled.

Sea stacks and thin rock formations towered over their heads. At the bow, four Vikings used their paddles to steer the ship, pushing it away from the lofty black stone columns. As they drew further into Helheim's Gate, fluttering wings could be heard far above their heads. They could hear the tittering and chirruping of dragons, calls no one had ever heard before, echoing amongst the monoliths.

"Arm yourselves!" Stoick called out.

"Move over!" Astrid hissed, swapping places with Tuffnut. She unfastened her shield from the hull of the ship and slid it onto her arm, gripping her axe in her other hand. The Viking in front of her raised his sword, ready to strike. There was a sudden gust of wind which knocked her back into her seat. The warrior's sword was flying up into the air, hefted aloft by a flitting black shape.

"Hey!" The bereaved Viking shook his fist up at the rapidly vanishing shape, "That was my grandfather's you beast!"

At this pronouncement, the chirruping noises around them increased tenfold. They increased more as every Viking around them hefted weaponry of one kind or another. Berk's tiny fleet was suddenly bristling with metal.

"Steady!" Astrid called out. "Eyes sharp!" Similar calls were being repeated across all four boats. Another moment passed, during which time the nattering around them grew to a crescendo.

The seastacks surrounding them suddenly burst forth with great swarms of dragons. Tiny scaled shapes flitted all around them, stealing weaponry and pulling at the longships' fastenings. Astrid watched helplessly as a warrior was lifted screaming into the air. His chainmail jangled as eight of the beasts carried him off into the mist. Four more were gathered at Stoick's shoulders, trying to pull him away. She could see him through the mist, standing proudly on the bow of his ship as he crushed the monsters with his hammer.

The swarms writhed and coiled, whirling around each of the longships, thieving weapons from the hands of ready Vikings, and sometimes carrying off shields and helmets. This was useless, she thought as she watched her comrades flail impotently at the flocks. She bellowed an order: "Shield wall!"

Her comrades obeyed immediately. Three-dozen warriors in total, huddled in a tight cluster around the mast. Dragons clawed and clattered uselessly against the shield wall, grasping at the sword tips, which would inevitably thrust out to disembowel them. Their corpses began to pile up, and the deck boards ran red with dragons' blood as the Vikings adjusted their tactics against their foes, gutting any dragon who dared venture down to grip a shield. On the other three ships, other Vikings began to follow their example.

There came a cry from somewhere above them. A chirping call Astrid had been dreading. Nadder fire split the sky, lighting the mast of her longship. The scorched and singed the crew, causing them to turn away. A few arrows were loosed after the beast but it flapped its wings and gracefully vanished into the fog, only to fall upon them again from a different direction. Its fire had broken the Viking's shield wall, and the swarms of smaller dragons fell upon them once again, snatching and grasping at their weapons and armor.

More dragonfire flashed to either side as Gronkles and Nadders began to attack the other ships as well. Their shadows fell across the ships like beams of darkness piercing the fog. Astrid could hear Stoick shouting commands to his troops. Steam began to rise, further obscuring the longships from one another, and preventing any tactical assessment of the battle.

"Reform!" Astrid called out, "Shield wall." She flung open one of the many plunderage chests, and retrieved several arrows and a bow from it. She notched an arrow and backed up until the Viking battle formation swallowed her. A few other archers were there as well, aiming through their covering's small cracks. Astrid took a moment to steady herself, comforted by the closeness and warmth of her battle brothers. They listened to the faint war calls from the other boats, and the constant chittering and flapping of dragon wings. She spotted a larger shadow heading towards the boat, and let fly her arrow. A cry told her she had hit her target, and a large shape crashed into the water beside their boat, breaking half of their oars, and causing the ship to rock and creak. The mast was still aflame. If they survived, the boat would have to be towed back.

Another dragon shrieked above them, and Astrid's heart fell when she recognized it as a Monstrous Nightmare.

"Scatter!" She ordered, even as the Nightmare's flaming spit fell from the sky. Vikings dove out of the way, though one or two were caught in the blaze and leapt overboard, screaming. The Nightmare came down with a screech and spread its wings, coming to a near halt in the air as it eclipsed the sky. It gripped the top of the mast with its feet and began to pull. Astrid was flung sideways and landed against the gunwhale. She gripped her axe tightly as salt water washed over the back of her neck and down her shoulders. The entire boat was tipping, capsizing under the weight of the Nightmare. All around her, warriors scrambled for handholds.

She gripped a nearby bench and hauled herself to her feet, steadying her stance against the wall of the ship. The nightmare was nearly in front of her now, the longship angled so steeply that water was rushing in over the side, soaking her ankles.

"Sorry, mum." Astrid murmured. She took one last breath, and then lifted her axe over her head and threw it and the monstrous dragon. With a meaty noise it hit the beast in the back of the leg. The Nightmare howled and let go of the mast. The longship righted itself, sending her flying backwards. The back of her head crunched against the hardened wooden frame, and the world drew out of focus. The last thing she heard were the anguished cries of her comrades, and the last thing she saw was a herd of Gronckles descending upon them.

* * *

><p>Only one ship came back from the expedition. The day was pale and grey. Frost still clung to the rough patches of grass. An agonizing week had passed since she had watched four ships vanish over the horizon.<p>

Brunhilda was there when the sorry expedition returned, charred and smoking. The sail was patched in multiple places, sometimes with articles of clothing. She watched as warriors, wounded and grim were helped off the boat and up the steep climb to the village. Their numbers were halved, with three ships lost. One by one they paraded by, singed and bleeding. As the parade passed through the crowd of silent villagers, her heart slowly sank. Yet she kept herself composed.

When she spotted blond hair, her feet carried her forward. Her breath failed as she recognized Tuffnut Thorston, using his spear for support.

"Astrid…?" she asked faintly.

He fixed her with a sad look and shook his head, then limped on towards the Thorston hall. The world spun round Brunhilda, a thousand emotions swirling in her chest.

Stoick the Vast brought up the rear, and Brunhilda heard Gobber's question. "Did you find the nest?"

She also heard the Chief's answer. "Not even close."

Later found her in the Hofferson hall, carefully unpacking her daughter's belongings. She found a few childhood toys. A change of clothes, Astrid's first axe, a small skirt, a doll... Very little. So very little to remember her by.

Hiccup's sketch of Astrid was lying on her bed. Brunhilda faintly pondered the origins of this unexpected object, yet dismissed it; to think of it was to prod an open wound. Instead she drew her knees up, clutched her lost child's axe, and resolutely refused to cry.

She gritted her teeth, realizing that she would never wake up to see her daughter dressing for the day. At noon, Astrid would no longer be leading the new trainees on a jog through Berk. She would never see her daughter training again. There were a thousand experiences, entire chapters of her life which had closed so very suddenly. Regrets swam through the sea grief. She should have tried to stop Astrid from going, though she knew there was no way she ever could have. Astrid had been…determined. Stoic. Certainly infected with that famous Viking stubbornness.

Loss was a part of Viking life. Especially on Berk. Brunhilda had lost her father, two brothers, and multiple cousins and uncles to the Dragons and the Outcasts and occasionally the harshness of the climate. But she came to the stunning realization that she had never expected Astrid to be among that number. It had seemed so incomprehensible an idea. She had never worried for her daughter like she had for other members of her family. Astrid had always been so… solid. A rock steadfast in the face of life's ferocious waves. A duty and a favor Brunhilda hoped she had managed to return.

Her gaze once again fell upon Hiccup's sketch, and she traced every careful stroke. How that talented young man had captured Astrid's essence. Her ferocity and determination. Brunhilda rose to her feet and gently picked up the sketch. She walked out the door and wandered Berk's familiar paths until at last she came upon the Haddock Hall.

She knocked once, twice, three times. The door was opened promptly to reveal Stoick's vast bulk. The man was holding a large block of ice to his temple. He looked exhausted, and Brunhilda could see new reddened burn marks on his arms, and scratches all over his shoulders. Blood trickled from a small cut on the side of his head.

"Brunhilda." He greeted, his voice tired and rough, but still polite.

"Chief Stoick." She replied, Astrid's tiny axe was still hanging loosely at her side.

"I uhh…" His eyes flickered towards the axe. "I was going to come by later and offer my condolences. Astrid… we would not have made it as far as we did without her. She fought well."

"Of course she did." Brunhilda said shakily. She raised the drawing and handed it to him. "I found this in her things. Hiccup drew it, right?"

Stoick's mouth had gone slack, his eyes wide with shock. He extended a trembling hand. "Where did you…?"

"It was in her things." Brunhilda repeated, suddenly feeling very tired.

He shot her a suspicious look, his eyes narrowed.

"I felt it should be returned…" she began.

"Yes. Thanks." The man was puffing repeatedly as he stared down at the picture. "In her things, you said?"

She nodded, picking up a certain anger in his tone. "Chief, if anything has happened-"

"Nothing!" He was snarling now, red-faced. "If you find any more of my son's sketches in _your_ _daughter's_ things, I will expect them returned to their rightful owner immediately! Good day!"

The door slammed shut in her face. If she had not felt so out of sorts with exhaustion, she would have pursued the issue. She didn't appreciate the unspoken accusation in his tone.

* * *

><p>Astrid felt sand between her fingertips. It was on her cheek as well, and in her hair. She even felt like someone had stuffed her head full of sand, given how difficult it was to formulate anything approaching rational thoughts. A muffled thumping noise echoed in her skull, as if she were underwater listening as waves slammed into a sea stack. Water was lapping at her knees, and she could smell the stench of rotting seaweed. She cracked an eyelid open and beheld a raven.<p>

The enormous bird was perched on a large rock a meter from her. Sunlight reflected from its sleek black feathers. She gazed up at it through half-lidded eyes. "Are you Huginn, or Muninn?"

The raven squawked loudly and tilted its head at her.

"Get out of here." She ordered hoarsely, "Go tell Odin I'm not dead yet!"

It squawked one last time and took off, beating the air with its wings as it rose and disappeared.

Astrid shut her eyes and rested a moment, building up some strength. Her head was pounding, her thoughts muddy, her memories jumbled. She rolled onto her back and cried out weakly. Her eyes were closed, but the sun still pierced her eyelids making her moan and turn her head away in protest.

Time passed, and her eyes adjusted, though the process went much more slowly than usual. The beach was yellow sand, rough and hot. Beyond it was sandstone, coloured in greys, reds and browns. Astrid slowly made her way up the beach, crawling at first but eventually she gathered the strength to force herself to her feet. She stumbled past the high-tide line, marked with rotting seaweed and thin, bone-white chunks of driftwood.

Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the distressed calls of a Deadly Nadder, carried on the wind.

Facing the sea, she took a seat on a boulder. Almost perfectly spherical in shape, it jutted a good two feet out of the sandstone, as if the gods had dropped a marble into the earth. Around it were several shorter flat rocks, fairly wide. As she watched, a small crab scuttled from one of them into the shelter underneath another. Beyond them was the blue ocean, looking fairly calm. But no other land masses were in sight. She wondered where she was.

Astrid sniffed and took stock. Her right side was aching madly. Her knees, elbows, and shoulders were sore, though her left knee was throbbing particularly badly. She sported several bruises on her arms and an enormous goose egg at the back of her head. The aching in her side was the worst though, and she wanted to see the damage first hand. Astrid gingerly began to undo the straps holding on her leather cuirass, but found her progress impeded by a leather strap. She followed it down to find a satchel at her waist.

It was fine quality leather, carefully oiled. Her memory slowly pieced events together. It was Fishlegs' satchel! He had given it to her before they'd shipped out. She had been wearing it during the battle at Helheim's gate.

She unslung it and opened it up, pouring a few cups of seawater onto the sand. Inside were a few changes of clothing, soaked, and a few slices of salted fish, carefully wrapped and dripping wet. Another object slid out and landed on the dry sand; Hiccup's journal. It too was soaked, but through some ungodly miracle, the ink had not run.

Astrid laid it out on one of the flat stones, using smaller pebbles to prop the pages open, allowing the offshore breeze to sift through them and dry them out faster. She would need the paper for kindling, and it was no good wet.

She kept the salted fish in its wrapping, placing a rock over it to prevent the more adventurous seagulls from snatching it away; for all she knew, it was to be her only food source for quite a while. She also used a few small pieces of bleached driftwood to prop the oiled satchel open, allowing it to dry as well.

She continued to undress, grunting at the minor aches and pains which accompanied the removal of her cuirass and her undershirt. She lay her wraps and undergarments aside as well, sitting half-naked on the rock as she waited for them to dry. The salt, of course, would make them stiff and uncomfortable. She hoped to find a freshwater stream somewhere on her new island, not only for drinking but also for washing. She leaned over to examine herself more closely. Her left side was a blotchy mess of angry blue bruises with yellowing edges. She was sore, but sure that nothing was broken.

Astrid pulled a small emergency knife from her boot. She had lost her axe, her shield, and all other weaponry. The knife was no good for killing. Its blade was perhaps three inches long. Not enough to kill a dragon, but for woodworking and preparing dead animals it would come in handy.

Astrid could see no trees on the island, but there was wood. Specifically, the bleached driftwood which lined the beaches. Some pieces were large enough for a fire, but all were far too small to lash together for a raft. Not that she had the rope. There were logs as well, too heavy for her to move. Even if she found the rope, and lashed them together, her clothing was threadbare, far too thin to construct an effective sail.

She wandered down the beach a kilometer or two, staying on sandstone as much as possible to avoid tiring herself out on the soft sand. She did find fresh water on the far side of a large spit. It couldn't even be called a creek, really. Merely moisture which ran down a sandstone slope and disappeared into the sandy beach. Several natural shallow caves had been hewn from the soft sandstone by years of waves and weather erosion. They sat well above the tide-line, and were filled with small chunks of bleached driftwood.

The sun crawled higher in the sky as she wandered three more kilometers, arriving at what she reckoned to be the far side of the island. She felt a surge of excitement as she caught sight of a distant landmass on the horizon. Once again, she could hear the calls of a Nadder, somewhere down the beach. She kept going, staying low as she moved fluidly around the rim of the bay. As she traveled, the squawking and chirping grew in volume. She reached a rocky outcropping and peered around it.

Beyond was an enormous pile of wood. Splintered timber from one of Berk's longships. Rigging and lines crisscrossed the waterlogged wreck, half-submerged. A little further up the bank was a Nadder, lying on its side, tangled in the rigging. It had somehow tangled one of its wings in the ship's sail. There was a spear embedded in its side. It was not a deep wound, but it would be fatal if not dealt with. As she watched, the Nadder

Breathing hard, Astrid pulled back and leaned against the rocky wall. She gripped her knife tightly. It was far too small to kill the dragon. And even on its side, the beast was still capable of breathing fire and shooting its poisonous spines. Yet she needed to get past it, to the timber. She needed the sail fabric which was wrapped around its wings. She searched the sea and surrounding area for bodies. Weapons. Wreckage. Anything she could use to kill the beast, and came up empty.

Grimacing with disappointment, she wandered back along the beaches. A four-kilometer hike to the place where she had washed ashore. Her supplies were still there. Her shirt and undergarments were dry, and stiff as boards, but she wrapped her chest up and slipped her shirt on anyway, thankful for the shade; her bare back had been exposed to the sun for several hours.

The fish fillets were warm, and infested with flies, but she ate one anyway. She carried the leather satchel over to the trickling water she had found. She dug a shallow hole there, and chopped some stiff grass stalks, placing them in such a way as to allow moisture to flow into the oiled satchel. With any luck there would be drinking water there the following morning.

Then, with the setting sun before her, Astrid settled down to think. She needed the lumber. She needed the rigging. She needed the sail. She needed to get past that wounded dragon. It would bleed out and die eventually. But would she still be alive by that time? Would she still have the strength to build a raft and set sail? Berk was part of an archipelago. This was not the first time a Viking had been shipwrecked. She could survive. Hop from island to island. Perhaps make it home, hug her mum and get a new axe.

But first she needed to get past the dragon.

Her gaze fell upon Hiccup's journal. Damp, but dry enough to handle. The boy certainly had a way with the beasts if he had managed to ride a Night Fury.

_How to Train Your Dragon by Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third_

Astrid flipped the front cover open and started down the first page. "Alright, Haddock," she grumbled, "we tried our way. Now let's see what you can do."

* * *

><p><strong>This story is finally starting to take shape!<strong>

**In terms of renaming the story, the overwhelming majority of people seemed to think I should keep it the same, so I will. Even so, I appreciate all of your commentary, and all of your suggestions for other possible names.**

**The meeting between Brunhilda and Stoick was originally very different, and I hated it. They were both out of character, and terribly mean to each other for no good reason. I wrestled with it for quite a while before finally deleting a fair chunk of the chapter and starting again. There was almost nothing salvageable. I'm still not entirely satisfied with the result, but I had to move on, or stall out. Don't you hate it when that happens?**

**As always, I love to hear your thoughts, good or bad.**

**Cheers,**

**-CC**


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